


circles

by marichaten (louiehonie)



Category: Miraculous Ladybug, ml - Fandom
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), Blood and Gore, F/F, F/M, Friends to Lovers, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, M/M, Minor Character Death, Multi, POV Alternating, References to Depression, Slow Burn, accidental reveal
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-15
Updated: 2019-11-24
Packaged: 2020-12-31 01:44:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 32,782
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21038864
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/louiehonie/pseuds/marichaten
Summary: The Papillon has finally been defeated and Paris thinks it can finally sleep soundly for the first time in nine years.But as we all know, evil never sleeps and for a small close knit group of friends the danger is far from over.Tie managing post secondary education, repressed childhood crushes, and superhero responsibilities while balancing deep buried secrets and a desperate attempt on one man’s part to keep an ugly truth hidden and you’ll wind up with far more than you asked for.





	1. PROLOGUE

Paris in the mornings had taken on a different ambiance following what they believed to be the end the Papillon’s reign.

People seemed happier, the constant threat of an Akuma attack no longer hanging over them like a cloud. The jubilant aura itself was tinged bittersweet at the notion an influential icon and king of fashion could be capable of such evil and when his crimes were brought to light the whole of France turned it’s back on Gabriel Agreste whilst his remaining staff, underlings, and sole heir had been left to try to rebuild from the ashes.

It was clear that Adrien had been as much in the dark as the rest of Paris was to Gabriel’s immorality, the twenty three year old’s horror and disappointment appearing uncontrived to all when the footage of the arrest of his father was leaked to the public.

He barely spared the man a passing glance as he let the police escort the criminal to the holding van waiting for him, briefly had an aside with his father before he strode away not looking back once not even when he shut the doors to the manor behind himself with an air of finality, as if closing the tall imposing door and locking himself in behind it symbolized cutting his last and only family tie. It was a cold move, colder than anything the young heir to Gabriel Designs had ever done but on his behalf, Paris unanimously agreed he had good reason.

Thanks to social media everyone found out quickly just what it was Gabriel had been hiding underneath his home this whole time.

Surprisingly, Ladybug had little to say on the matter only coming forward to confirm that the criminal was captured, his Miraculous had been returned to it’s rightful place, and that all was as well as it could be considering what the last battle had cost. There was no additional comment on the disappearance of the Peacock Miraculous, but as it’s wearer had unfortunately died in battle no one appeared visibly worried about its whereabouts other than the Guardians of Paris, but with no leads as to where it could have gone, and considering how damaged it already was, Ladybug had no choice but to write it off as lost forever.

She took a long pause before announcing that due to the fact the threat plaguing them all for the last nine years was finally over and dealt with, the Miraculous Team was taking some well earned time off and were going to be focusing on their civilian responsibilities and personal lives instead.

A ripple of shock had run through the crowd. But who could argue? They were truly safe at last.

Her core group consisting of Carapace, Rena Rouge and Queen Bee were also present for this public announcement, but since the day their foe had been unmasked, Chat Noir had vanished without a trace. He had told Ladybug that now the worst part was over there were ‘some things he needed to take care of’ and he swore he’d be back as soon as he could, but he wouldn’t, couldn’t meet her eyes when she made him promise that to her.

No one at the press conference asked questions or pressed the matter, assuming the elusive hero merely was the first on the bandwagon to retire but Ladybug was visibly distressed taking the sudden absence of her closest partner personally to heart. Eventually it was speculated this had been the main reason for her decision to disband the Miraculous Team, and in the months following, people began to feel the absence of their guardians of Paris in the way one would feel about an old friend moving away or losing a close relative.

Many looked to the rooftops, as if any moment they’d see a familiar blur of red and black chasing each other over the city again. Street artists made breathtaking murals, people wrote songs and poetry, told stories and shared memories and relived favourite moments amongst each other, all in the hopes that their heroes would pass them by in civilian form and perhaps notice, feel comfort in the knowledge they’d been appreciated and that they were greatly missed.

For four people who’d become incredibly close in that same period of time, they saw the dedication as something equally bittersweet as the air of freedom they breathed in now.

In the hour just before the sun would rise from the east, this group of friends would crawl to the rooftops, spread out a blanket and wait for the first rays of dawn. Sometimes they spoke in animated throes of battles they’d faced together in the past, and other times they sat in silence, but this had become somewhat of a routine thing, with one figure sitting slightly apart from the group, her eyes fixed on the rooftops behind them, straining her gaze like she was searching for something or someone.

Marinette’s friends didn’t comment on her peculiar behaviour or wonder who it was she was searching for. They just sat in support of their friend, in support of the girl they now knew to be Ladybug and waited patiently alongside her for the return of their missing teammate and friend.

But as the months grew colder and the days grew shorter, Marinette found herself increasingly discouraged and a little frustrated by the unceremonious departure of her most trusted partner and felt as though their trust had been broken.

It was Alya who finally approached her in the end to stop holding out a useless hope. “At first I thought he just needed time,” the girl also known only by her comrades as Rena Rouge had said, “but now I think he isn’t coming back to us. You need to let it go.”

And although Marinette has desperately wanted to argue; she couldn’t help but reluctantly agree, and it crushed her to swallow such a hard truth.

She was never going to see Chat Noir again.


	2. courir sans endroit où aller

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Paris is in limbo and silent strings are being plucked by an invisible hand, while the Miraculous team is disbanded and hopelessly in the dark about what’s to come.
> 
> (As far as my trigger warnings go I want to remind you that Marinette is struggling with undiagnosed depression and Adrien has a drinking problem, if that makes any of you uncomfortable I urge you not to read this story because as most addictions and mental illnesses go, it gets pretty bad before it gets better)

(Ten Months Later)

It had to be the rainiest September that Paris had ever seen.

The days were grey and cold and left the air with something to be desired. The only splashes of colours to be seen were the in the umbrellas and raincoats people donned before leaving their homes, breaking up the otherwise monotonous looking city left washed out and gloomy.

The month itself was nearly half over but the frequent visits to the rooftops had to be put on hold until the deluge had cleared up if it even let off at all, and Marinette was going stir crazy in her new apartment.

She’d rearranged her entire living room twice since first unpacking it and must have done the same with the kitchen and bed/bathroom en suite a half dozen times each. The space wasn’t like what she had grown up in, but it wasn’t uncomfortably small, and had an additional rooftop terrace much like her childhood home bore. She almost felt guilty to find the space claustrophobic all the same.

It’d been nearly two months since she’d moved in, and as usual Marinette was siting alone in her living room binge watching Project Runway and cuddling up to a glass of Sangiovese as method of winding down; only half paying attention to the show whilst an uneaten plate of spring mix sat on her lap. It was only when her kwami zoomed up onto her knee out of nowhere, her big round eyes full of concern that she jumped with a start like she was just coming to and taking in her surroundings.

“You should text Alya back.” Tikki frowns at her, “she’s been messaging you for hours now.”

One cursive peek at her phone confirms Tikki’s words, but Marinette just sighs. “I don’t really want to, I just feel like being alone right now Tikki.”

In some ways it was true, she didn’t want to talk to just anyone.

Her mind was still on the only person she hadn’t talked to in so long it was growing hard to remember what the last thing they spoke about was. If she’d known the last time she spoke to Chat would be the last time, she would’ve made sure he understood how important he was to Paris, how much more so he was to her. Maybe she could have even convinced him to let her help him with whatever mission it was he had shouldered.

He’d missed so much in the past months, the dedications, the group statue erected in their honour, the big moment when the team finally revealed their identities to one another, something she knew he’d been gunning for since day one. The shock that Chloé Bourgeois was Queen Bee was still taking some time to wear off, and she could only imagine it was the same for her since discovering Marinette was Ladybug. Despite that, they’d formed something akin to a real friendship or camaraderie in the last ten months and Marinette has to admit she found herself almost pleased at the notion the two of them could be mature enough to get along now.

Still somehow, even after a very positive development, she couldn’t help feeling cheated that after all this time the partner she’d known the longest was the only one she didn’t truly know at all. The irony was not lost on her, she found herself thinking bitterly as she took a musing sip of wine and let her imagination wander while her eyes glazed over again. Getting lost in thoughts of her former partner instantaneously, Marinette paid no mind to Tikki’s incessant hovering until the impatient kwami flew right in front of her face, and forced her to come back to reality.

“Marinette.” Tikki laments in clear disapproval, “your friend is checking in on you and is worried about you, the least you can do is send her a simple text to let her know that you’re okay.”

She’s right, but Marinette has to resist the urge to childishly stick out her tongue in response instead.

The kwami hefts the phone almost the exact same size as her little body off of the pink throw pillow beside Marinette’s knee and thrusts the device into her hand. Sure enough, there’s nearly thirty missed texts and calls. Several are from her parents, Luka, Nino, one or two in the mix are from Chloé and Kagami, but Alya takes up the rest.

Marinette sighs again, thumbing over Alya’s most recent text with the intent to send her a quick _‘I’m fine, having a ‘me’ night, can we talk tomorrow?’_ text, but accidentally swipes the phone icon instead of the text icon and Alya picks up on the second ring.

Stifling a groan of frustration, Marinette pauses her show and mumbles a guilty “yes” in response to Alya’s scathing greeting of:

“oh, so you _are_ alive.”

“I’ve been busy, Alya.” Marinette tries to excuse herself, but all Alya does is scoff at her entirely unconvinced.

“Busy doing what?” Her best friend sees right though her sorry excuse; “reorganizing your place for the twentieth time?”

“No, I’ve just been trying to veg out before this semester starts in with tedious assignments and I never get a chance to be lazy again. Plus I’m having a mental block with my portfolio, I haven’t heard back from any of the internships I applied to and now is so not the time for late admissions. And to top it all off, I’ve been so stressed out I’m sleeping badly.”

She grumbles only slightly dramatically, knowing Alya can relate to the pressure of a deadline, and takes comfort in the knowledge she isn’t lying to her friend. Not completely anyways.

“Fair enough, but take two minutes our your ‘you time’ to text me or your parents back Marinette. We haven’t seen or heard from you in over a week.” She’s sympathetic, but not overly so and it’s the kick in the ass Marinette needs.

“I’m sorry, do you want to get breakfast tomorrow, maybe go window shopping at Avenue Montaigne and see if I can get the creative juices flowing, glean some bursts of inspiration?”

Marinette drapes herself over the arm of her couch and stares out the window at the smudge of lights outside; making up Paris in the rain at night in a hazy way, “I need get some new bolts of fabric, new patterns and colours. Oh plus there’s this gorgeous raw silk I found a month ago at Marché Saint-Pierre I’ve been saving up for because it’s a little on the expensive side but so worth it. I could use a shopping partner.”

She props her chin in her hand and blinks hard, rubbing at her eyes sleepily. It must have been a trick of the light, but she could’ve sworn she saw a blur of something or _someone_ swoop past her living room window as silent as a shadow.

“Hell yes I’m there.” Alya sounds like she’s grinning, “I’ll tell Nino to meet us for coffee too, he’s been missing you as well, but I get you for the rest of the whole day, deal?” Her friend demands of her, sounding insistent, and Marinette can’t help but laugh, her gaze flits to her window again in suspicion but there’s nothing out there but a gloomy quiet city and the endless pouring of rain.

“Deal.” She promises.

Satisfied, Alya launches into a brief rundown of her past week, filling Marinette in on what she’s missed. Her friend’s voice is a comforting soundtrack to the smudgy cityscape Marinette finds herself still dwelling on, and she’s growing weary.

After a twenty minute conversation she can honestly admit she remembers very little of as it trickles through the sieve of her thoughts, Marinette bids Alya a soft goodnight, promising again to meet her friend first thing in the morning for coffee and a day of shopping.

After ending the call she bumbles her way about her apartment, turning off her tv, tossing her uneaten salad in the garbage, plugs her phone in on her nightstand and throws on her softest cotton pyjamas before washing her face, brushing her teeth and stumbling into her waiting bed.

Marinette’s actions up until she slipped under her goose down duvet had been groggy and absentminded due to how worn out she’d felt. But now, lying in the darkness with her covers pulled up to her chin and the weak light of the city making its way though a slit in the damask curtains covering her window, she found herself wide awake, trembling all over like she was restless, like she was waiting for something she couldn’t put her finger on.

With a sigh of frustration she kicked her covers off down to her ankles and sat up. When sitting in the darkness for all of three minutes grows old she leaps off the bed and paces around the tight quarters of her bedroom. She can feel her kwami’s anxious presence following the rotation of her tiny living space, but for once it isn’t comforting, it’s putting her on edge.

“Tikki!” Marinette explodes, then pauses, uncertainty creeping in at the urge to shout an all to familiar phrase, the urge to pace a much larger space taking precedence in forefront of her mind:

“spots on!”

She hears the small gasp Tikki makes before she swirls her way into the Miraculous still adorning her Master’s ears.

For once, Marinette doesn’t move into the transformation as it occurs. She opts instead to stand still, and closes her eyes, letting the ancient magic envelope her and settle on her like a very familiar second skin.

When her eyes open again, she faces her mirror on her bedroom door and frowns at how unfamiliar her suit looks. Black makes it’s way up from her hands to her inner elbows, and does the same from her feet to the backs of her knees, the entirety of her suit has taken on a hard casing much like the exoskeleton of a real ladybug’s shell. She spreads her arms and notices the suit itself has a hidden extra compartment underneath her arms like built in wings, designed with the intention to use this new layer as a way of gliding from building to building instead of constantly jumping around. It’s subtly hidden underneath the casing on the back of her suit very similarly to how a real ladybug’s set of wings would be she notices with a touch of amusement.

“This is...different.” She muses aloud, her blue eyes narrowing behind a mask that cuts sharply across her cheekbones, highlighting the new maturity of her facial features in a way her old mask never did. She traces the domino shape inquisitively, her brow furrowed in bewilderment.

_“You’ve been thinking about needing a change,” Tikki rationalizes, “the suit embodies that.”_

“I hadn’t even realized.” The superhero sighs, “I don’t even look like Ladybug anymore.” Her pigtails are long gone, replaced with her nearly waist length hair a fluffy ballerina bun, the ends of her bangs dipped in a red that matches the red in her suit perfectly.

_“Of course you do. You **are** Ladybug.”_ Her kwami points out patiently in her inner ear, _“no change to your suit or your heart can alter any of that.”_

Ladybug shakes her head, turning away from the mirror, done with appraising her new look for the time being. “Ok. Let’s go.”

She sprints to the door leading to her rooftop terrace, climbs to the railing and reaches for her yo-yo. She hesitates, one foot on the railing and the other still poised behind her on the reclining deck chair she’d used for leverage. The quiet city seems to be sleeping soundly around her and it emboldens the young woman to throw her yo-yo out as far as it can extend, hearing the distant metallic clang as it wraps itself around a far off structure nearly fifteen yards away.

_“Be careful”_ Tikki admonishes, _“it’s still raining and you haven’t done this in a while.”_

“I’ll be fine.”

Ladybug grits her teeth and pulls herself off the railing, free falling into the air and yanking herself upwards and outwards, letting her yo-yo spring free and tossing it back out to wind around a chimney, the motions coming as easy to her as breathing. By the time she’s landed on a flat stretch of rooftops, she’s taken off running as fast as she can, splashing through puddles and sliding easily off of alternate rooftops at inhuman speeds until her legs are jelly and her lungs ache.

As she approaches the end of another rooftop she spreads her arms and leaps; forgoing the yo-yo for the glider hidden in her suit for the first time.

She squeezes her eyes shut in apprehension, her breath catching in her throat the same time her glider catches a gust of wind and has her spiralling upwards with it. It feels like she’s flying, and Ladybug snaps her eyes open; they glitter like sapphires in the lights of various buildings behind her and the in spotlight of the looming Eiffel Tower ahead and she laughs aloud with exhilaration as she glides through the air with an ease she’s never known in her entire time as Ladybug. She’s leaping higher and soaring faster now, no weight of responsibility on her shoulders, and she doesn’t feel the rain at all.

As she flits through the air Ladybug slings her yo-yo out towards the tower, hearing it make contact and pulling herself towards it when the line goes taunt. Aided by her built in glider, Ladybug lands atop the highest vantage point in seconds, despite nearly being a football field away when her yo-yo first made contact.

She stands, gazing out at the city below her, chest heaving with exertion.

A quick check to the satellite phone of her yo-yo tells her that her brief stint from her apartment to the tower took all of twenty minutes, and she smirks at the knowledge she’s nearly twice as fast as the metro ride from her flat to her current destination. The glider had really come in handy and Ladybug idly wonders why she’d never had such an addition to her suit before.

“L-ladybug?!”

She turns her head, gazing despondently at the night guard standing a few feet away from her perch on the railing frozen in shock at the sight of her and fights the urge to roll her eyes.

“Yes?” She inquires a tad snappishly.

“What are you doing out here? Is Paris in danger again?!” He asks in a shaky voice.

“No, I was just on a nighttime patrol, we still try to do those from time to time.” She makes up easily, “please don’t spark panic for no reason.”

Although Ladybug is relieved when he nods solemnly, his rigid posture indicates he’s seconds from doing something embarrassing like saluting her and she’s overwhelmed with the desire to flee.

“Don’t mention you saw me here either,” she adds hastily, “I don’t need the people of Paris panicking when there’s nothing to panic over, I just like to keep watch every now and then. It’s a tough habit to break.”

“Are you really Ladybug?” The guard inquires, squinting thoughtfully at her appearance, “because you dont look like the real Ladybug.”

“I’m still Ladybug even if my suit is different.” Ladybug gives in to the urge to roll her eyes now, “it doesn’t mean I’m necessarily different. I don’t think so at least.”

The guard steps closer his brow furrowing in curiosity; “then why did you change your suit?” He asks her, an accusing tone still lacing his voice.

“Because,” Ladybug examines her hands and looks down at the rest of her suit, snapping her glider open and preparing to launch herself as far away from this awkward conversation as she can get;“I grew up.”

And with that, she falls backwards off from the railing, ignoring the startled yells from the guard watching her and takes off into the night for the refuge of her lonely apartment.

Having a run in with a civilian the very first time she went out into the night as Ladybug again in nearly a year was disheartening to say the least and as Marinette climbed back in through her bedroom window she resolved to herself it was probably for the best she didn’t use her Miraculous again for a while. Paris clearly wasn’t ready, and as a result, neither was she.

If Tikki was already aware of this she didn’t let on and simply bade Marinette a heartfelt goodnight and curled up on the nearest pillow adoring the bed. The sound of the city was still sending prickles of irritation up Marinette’s spine, setting her teeth on edge. As she turned sharply on her side and punched at her pillow in frustration, she realized she was in for a restless night.

🐞

“I told you she was going to be late.” Nino’s arms were crossed and a muscle was twitching in his jaw, his knee jumping sporadically as he tapped out a rhythm with his foot. Alya placed a calming hand on his arm, as if urging him to chill.

“She called ahead, apparently her train is late, so that isn’t her fault. And it’s not like everyone is here yet, have you heard back from Adrien since last night?” She asks, looking unsurprised when Nino shakes his head.

“He just said he’d ‘try to make it’ in his text.” Nino shrugs and takes a sip of his latte, “I didn’t realize growing up meant our two most outgoing friends would become the biggest introverts.”

He feels glum.

Alya frowns in response, clearly unsure of how seriously they should be talking about this in a public space, and if it was even appropriate to do when their friends could show up any minute and overhear them.

“I am kind of worried,” She begins hesitantly, “about Mari.”

Nino nods, “me too.”

He fidgets with the handle of his mug and stares out at the rain splattered café windows, the weak light of the late morning sun trying and failing to break the dense cloud cover the city had been under for what felt a lot like a lifetime.

“And I worry about Adrien a lot. I don’t think he’s talked to anyone about what happened. Like since discovering everything about his dad, and the fact his mom is still in that coma and-”

“-babe I know you’re worried about him too and I don’t think it’s healthy that he’s shutting himself away from everyone and drowning himself in his work, but the only person he really should be talking to about that is a therapist.” Alya says gently but firmly.

Nino nods, about to add on when his eyes widen and he stands up to wave behind Alya at whichever friend of theirs made it on time first.

“Dude! I didn’t know if you were ever going to show!” Nino exclaims as Marinette makes her way around the table to wrap Nino in a hug and turn to hug Alya next as she stands.

“Nice to finally see you, stranger.” Alya only half jokes, squeezing a little harder than necessary as a warning,_if you ever do that to me again..._

The threat is implied and Mari is left to ponder the possibilities of the consequences so Alya can breathe a little easier when they pull back and her friend has that soft smile that promises Alya she has nothing to worry about.

“Do they still have that smoked oyster mushroom and gruyère quiche here?” Marinette idly flips the menu through her fingers, not really looking at it. “I tried to recreate the same thing with my papa and had no luck, and I’ve been craving to have the real thing.”

“Yeah dude.” Nino grins and slaps his menu shut, “now that you mention it I want the same. I love the flavour of those mushrooms, they’re amazing.”

His eyes light up as he spots Adrien poking his head in the door, still trying to close his umbrella behind him as he steps inside, struggling slightly with rain dripping off his nose and new set of expensive looking designer eyeglasses in danger of slipping off along with the odd stray droplets.

“Hang on,” he tells the ladies and jumps up to help his best friend.

“Glad you could make it!” Nino says to him brightly, tugging Adrien inside and slapping him on the back in warning as much as Alya had just done with Marinette. Adrien clearly gets the message too because he pushes his glasses up his nose and winces sheepishly at his friend, putting his umbrella in a stand by the door.

“Sorry, the traffic...” He trails off, gesturing at the very obvious jam outside uselessly, noticing the girls seated at the table waving at him and visibly brightens, picking up the pace to his own seat next to the girl he’s been beaming at the whole way over.

“Hi Ayla, and Marinette!” He practically sings as he stands behind the chair next to hers.

When he first enrolled at Françoise Dupont, Adrien was convinced Marinette didn’t like him and had been devastated at the notion. Nino told him he was being ridiculous and once he saw he was, he had merely thought of her as shy with new people and resolved to spend more time with her, tried to get to know her better.

Thankfully over that time she stopped stuttering around him and mixing up her words or seeming too excitable out of nowhere. She’d become a real friend to him, one he had the utmost respect and admiration for much like he did for Nino and Alya.

Marinette’s ambitions to become a designer had taken her to a different school than her friends after they’d graduated due to the fact most of the programs she was taking were held at exclusive academies she worked tirelessly to get in to, while Adrien at the time had finally convinced his father to let him apply for post secondary and study Physics. In addition, Alya had bounced all over the city following any juicy story she could get her hands on, while Nino spent months opening for Kitty Section at every show they played, determined to be noticed by any talent scout in the audience.

When these four young adults threw themselves headfirst into new chapters of their lives they all fell a little out of touch along the way and stopped spending time together as a group. Of course the factoring in the Miraculous duties Nino now knew Alya and Marinette had also shouldered and all the responsibilities and familial obligations Adrien had, it made sense they’d have such busy lives.

But when everything had gone down with Adrien’s father, Nino had felt so helpless.

He was uncertain of what his friend needed from him, his concern only growing when Adrien dropped out of school, and began to isolate himself from his friends. Even Chloé couldn’t get him out of the house and she had been _adamant_. Nino had wished Marinette had been there for Adrien then, it’d almost been a year and he still seemed so withdrawn and worn down.

Marinette would’ve known what to say, what to do, how to comfort someone she knew well and cared for. But she was still so wrapped up in her quest to find Chat Noir, she seemed to be pulling away too, and he was desperate for these two islands to reconnect, for them to have someone to talk to about these feelings of loss they weren’t dealing with properly. Alya had called it _meddling_ but she still agreed to help him, and Nino couldn’t help but feel a little self satisfied now.

Seeing his closest friends together again was a breath of fresh air.

Adrien was lit up like the sun, and Marinette seemed to glow under the attention, rising from her chair to hug Adrien and peck both his cheeks in greeting, her own turning pink when he kisses hers back immediately.

“Hi Adrien, so good to see you. What a surprise.”She says the last part meaningfully and narrows her eyes at Nino and Alya over Adrien’s shoulder as she hugs him, all too familiar with their alleged meddling back in Collège.

Alya holds her hands up defensively, making it clear she wasn’t a part of this, or so she’s saying anyways. Marinette rolls her eyes and starts blushing again breaking her embrace from Adrien who pulls her chair out for her the second she steps away from him to return to her seat.

“Thank you.” Her gaze is fixed on her plate as Adrien Squeezes her shoulder before he slides into his chair beside her and flips open his menu.

“Has the cheese cart made its rounds yet? I’m probably going to take a little brine ripened Camembert for the road.” His lips twitch with an almost amused quirk as he scans the menu in his hands. His eyes are tired but his smile is real and Nino feels at ease as he inhales the perfume of his jasmine tea.Marinette nods in response to Adrien’s query, pouring herself some earl grey now steeped to perfection, “they were out with it shortly before you got here, so maybe in another couple minutes?”

He thanks her and orders smoked gouda crepes and a bone dry cappuccino, demanding to know what everyone’s been up to while he’s been trying to navigate the daunting world of fashion now that he’s tasked with the responsibilities of his father’s former company.

“I scrapped the name Gabriel,” he admits to them awkwardly, “it’s called Agreste Designs for now, but I’m hoping to re-brand it a little more than that when I have more sway with the shareholders and can eventually turn the company around. It was poorly managed under my father’s neglect and now that we know why, I feel it’s necessary to distance the company itself as far from the name _Gabriel_ as possible.”

He fidgets with his spoon, stirring his drink a little too long, and not meeting anyone’s eye.

“I scored a pretty sweet internship,” Nino volunteers quickly to break the pregnant silence hanging over the table after Adrien mentions his father, and his friend looks grateful for the shift in topic, “I’m going to be doing the legwork setting up gigs during music festival season, and I’m going to be able to play quite a few of shows of my own.”

“Nino! That is amazing news!” Marinette exclaims, her eyes darting nervously from him to Alya, “but doesn’t this mean you’re going to be away from home a lot for the next year or so?”

Alya smiles and answers for Nino, “this is why we wanted you both to join us today.”

She holds out an acceptance letter to the journalist program she’s been breaking her back to get into with an elaborate flourish to cries of delight and congratulations from her two friends.

“My cover story is sort of going to be about Nino’s gigs, but mostly about the music festival underworld and some juicy behind the scenes type stuff. I pitched the idea to Nadia as she’s the head of the program and she _loved_ it!”

Nino and Alya squeeze each other’s hands excitedly before turning back to their friends remembering what they’d discussed earlier with each other, smirking a little at the mirrored innocence and curiosity in Marinette and Adrien’s gazes.

“Since we’re both going to be away a lot, you need to take care of each other for us. No arguments, no ifs ands or buts.” Nino tells them firmly.

“You both spend way too much time alone and have way too much potential to be keeping yourselves cooped up indoors not experiencing life,” Alya tacks on. “Now, tonight Kitty Section has a gig, we are all being supportive friends and going to it, and then tomorrow you guys are helping Nino and I pack up our apartment, because we’re renting it out while we stay at airbnbs all over Europe for the next year.”

She seems severe in her instructions.

“Lets face it, you guys are gunna need each other while your best friends aren’t around to keep you company.” Nino adds with a disarming smile.

Adrien laughs too, chagrined, while Marinette just frowns and picks up her cup instead of making eye contact with any of her friends.

“I’m actually looking forward to a break from the both of you.” Marinette jokes idly, sipping her tea with her pinky out. “Finally get some peace and quiet around here.”

“You’ve spent way too much time with Chloé lately.” Alya grumbles, leaning over to pinch Marinette’s bicep as she speaks, showing she’s not as irate as she’s letting on.

If Adrien is surprised by the fact Marinette and Chloé spend time together now, he doesn’t let on at all.

“Hey, you guys don’t need to herd Marinette and I into hanging out, we’d gladly do it regardless.” He grumbles to his friends like it’s so obvious, signalling to the waiter with the cheese cart, “we are good friends after all.”

Marinette sighs, “and I was planning on going to the concert tonight anyways, I always go to their gigs.” She reddens after she’s spoken up and refuses to say another word, burying her face in her cup as Ayla’s eyebrows graze her hairline.

“Great, so it’s settled, you babysit each other for us while we’re gone, we’re going to have a bitching time tonight, and tomorrow we’ll pack up the apartment hungover as all hell.” Nino finally declares, ignoring the looks Alya is giving Marinette.

“Sounds awful,” Marinette drains her teacup and sets it down on the table with a bang, “I’m in.”

“That’s the spirit,” Alya tosses her tawny hair, gives up on the searching gaze she was roving over her best friend to smiles winningly at Adrien instead, “what about you Agreste? You in?”

He signs his check with a shrug, accepting the boxed Camembert from the waiter beside him, “how awful could it really be? Of course I’m in.”

He feels a restless stirring in his breast pocket and sighs, “but I am late for a meeting. Text me the address and I’ll meet you guys at the gig tonight.”

“It starts at nine.” Alya tells him, “dress accordingly.”

🐞

Slouched in the backseat of his town car, twenty three year old Adrien Agreste heir to an enormous fashion empire, and the sixth richest person in France was having a terse conversation with a centuries old God in the form of a tiny floating cat creature.

“I’m telling you I was trying to get your attention because I felt the presence of other kwamis, not because of the Camembert, although I have to commend you on picking out such an excellent vintage.”

Plagg was insistent, his tail lashing behind him much like a normal cat’s would. His eyes were in slits, and he was flying to and fro across the space of the backseat like he was pacing, “you should’ve let me snoop around the place and figure out where they were, or _who_ they were. Aren’t we supposed to be looking for the Peacock Miraculous? Hasn’t that been your whole big reason for disappearing on Ladybug without so much as a goodbye?”

“Plagg,” Adrien sighs pinching the bridge of his nose,

“you know as well as I do that the Team disbanded after their public service announcement. There were no other kwamis in that café. You didn’t sense a damn thing, you were just hungry. Plus, I’m probably not even allowed to be using the Black Cat Miraculous anymore, so I don’t think it would matter much to Master Fu or whomever the new guardian is now if I’m looking for the Peacock Miraculous while I still have mine.” 

Adrien removes his glasses, polishing them on the hem of his shirt while Plagg zooms up into his face, looking mightily disappointed.

Adrien is thankful the partition is up, because Plagg’s blatant disregard for anonymity had only increased once Papillon was finally behind bars. He flexed his jaw, putting his glasses back on and reaching around his blazer pockets for his cigarettes as he usually did when he thought about his father, only to remember he’d left them at home as he was trying to quit. His hands twitched in frustration, drumming unsteady rhythms on his knees instead.

“So, you want to return me?” Plagg asks in a flat tone.

“Of course not!” Adrien exclaims hotly. “You’re my friend and the only family I really have left. We just need to be more careful, after everything we’ve been through I don’t want to lose you too.”

Plagg pretends to gag, but satisfied with Adrien’s answer, flies back into his holder’s breast shirt pocket, a piece of cheese clasped in his paws and contentedly snacks on it the rest of the way to the Tsurugi Tower while Adrien rests his head against the window and stared morosely out at the gloomy city still slick with rainfall.

After his father’s villainous alter ego had been unmasked, no one wanted to touch Gabriel Designs with a ten foot pole. Investors backed out, some designers quit, clients rescinded their patronage, no new clients took their place, and Adrien had been tempted to let it all fall to shit.He felt it would show his father, would show him what his precious legacy really looked like, but when the time came, he found he couldn’t bring himself to do it.

He was rescued nearly a year ago when as he was drinking alone in a seedy little bar going over the paperwork to sell his father’s company for scrap, someone took the seat across from him.

“You’re making a huge mistake, you know.”

Kagami steepled her fingers, resting her chin on the tips of them, holding Adrien in a steady gaze. “My mother wants to buy your father’s company, keep it whole and have you run it, and honestly Adrien, you’d be great at it.”

Adrien made to argue but she minutely shook her head as if advising him to just shut up and listen to her so he snapped his jaw shut, searching her face warily for a hint at what she’s getting at.

“If that isn’t enough to sway you, consider the fact you’d be keeping hundreds of people employed as opposed to the collateral damage they’ll become if you dissolve the company as a quick fix solution. That’s something a villain would do, something Gabriel Agreste would do.” She spoke curtly.

Adrien had sighed, scrubbing his hands over his face. “I do not want to represent my father’s company, Kagami.” He said only whining a little, but he felt he was allowed.

“So don’t. Represent your _own_. Get new designers, take it all in a completely different direction, make something out of it so it doesn’t go to waste. That company may have been run by your father for as long as anyone can remember, but it was your mother’s too.” His friend urged, “if there’s anyone worth doing this for, its her.”

He thought of the beautifully furnished hospital room where Emilie now lies like a princess in a fairy tale, yet another hapless victim of a deranged king drunk on a power he didn’t deserve to wield.

What a waste.

“It wouldn’t matter in the least to her.” He huffed out indignantly, “she’s practically dead.”

His eyes stung and he tried to keep his composure, but Kagami wasn’t having it.

“Adrien she’s alive, and one day she’s going to wake up.” She told him firmly, “don’t youthink that once she does and once she discovers what your father has done, you’d want to be a son that she can be proud of?”

Her words are like a slap to the face, but to this day he still finds himself grateful for them.

After a collective pause, he pushed aside the paperwork, leaning forward in his seat and mimicking his friend’s pose. “I don’t want it to be called Gabriel Designs anymore.” He said staunchly.

“I believe that was Tomoe Tsurugi’s first order of business.” Kagami had smiled at him.

That had been so long ago, but Adrien still felt so unsteady on his feet as if this responsibility had only been flung on him yesterday. 

That conversation in the bar had lead to the first initial meeting with Tomoe and her investors, which opened the door to one after another right up to the one he was in now with his appointed advisor; feeling drained after the dozens of other meetings he’d been through in this very morning and afternoon alone.

Tomoe ran a tight ship so she’d surprised everyone by appearing to give Adrien free reign of his father’s—no, _his_ company.

“I trust you.” Is all she merely told him, “I’m not your boss, so think of me as your financial backer, but remember it is in your best interest to provide me with good reason to keep this company afloat.”

She didn’t say more on the issue, just provided him with a list of names, and in the first few short hours of being the head of the newly christened Agreste Designs he was preparing for interviews he’d be conducting to find himself new interns, assistants, and most importantly; designers.

“A busy atelier means a wealthy haus of fashion.” His advisor would insist every time Adrien complained about the interviews or bitched about scouting up-and-coming designers before they could be poached by _Chanel_ and their ilk.

Honey Ahuja didn’t care if Adrien was sick of talking to twenty people in the last half hour because she had twenty one more waiting on the other side of the door for the next half.

She was on the board of Tsurugi Industries and was for all intents and purposes acting as the unspoken manager to Adrien during the transitionary period of rebuilding and rebranding Agreste Designs. She was also a six foot tall Indian glamazon utterly married to her job, and clearly there to keep Adrien from fucking up before he had full control of the reigns. Despite the appearance of micromanaging on Tomoe’s behalf by appointing Honey, he knew she was only doing it to help him find his footing in this difficult time, and Adrien found himself utterly grateful for that and for his advisor’s no-nonsense attitude, he needed someone with her level of fixated rigidity to keep him on track, even if she irritated him beyond belief sometimes.

“So I’ve been thinking about our approach to the future pop up show in Le Marais, and we’re playing it a little too safe.”

Honey is tapping her favourite pen against her planner in clear agitation, her hair done up in a perfect roll, and her lips painted in their trademark burgundy hue, dressed in her usual monochromatic wardrobe of greys and/or blacks.

“Safe?” Adrien queries with a long suffering sigh, looking out the window of his office. “Yet you had insisted a guerrilla pop up the week before fashion week was so wrong it was right and was the only way to go forward with our new image. What changed?”

The enormous floor to ceiling windows make him feel like he’s inside a fish bowl as he overlooks _La Défense_; a bustling metropolis that made him feel queasy to watch day after day, a tumbler of scotch in his hand before noon that his advisor hardly ever raises an evenly penciled brow at.

“Nothing had changed Mr. Agreste, this is an emboldened move to be certain. But the _clothing_ itself needs to represent that. We still have plenty time to find other designers and tweak what we’re working with but I’d rather we have who we need now. Finding and booking the right models is the next big uphill, but I can’t even begin to entertain that headache until our designers are no longer leaving something to be desired. We need to tackle this problem first.”

He’s heard this all week, and he’s getting impatient.

Honey is unhappy with their lot, feeling as though they could do an awful lot better than the hapless fresh out of college faces he’s got waiting for interviews in the lobby and she clearly feels the designers they still have are tainting the new line by making things too much like Gabriel’s previous designs, and wants to put as clear a distance from that as possible.

He understands her frustration, he too feels they’ve fallen short of the mark in what he was hoping would be a big comeback, but he feels blocked feels stagnant; uncertain of where to turn and who to turn to.

He takes a small sip of his scotch and frowns, deep in thought, his mind jumping back to his coffee date with his friends earlier that morning, to Marinette, his extremely talented fashion forward friend who’d mentioned a touch sadly that she still had yet to hear back from the internships she’d applied for as it was a necessary part of the program she was in and all her other peers had already snagged excellent gigs.

“I’ll have our designer issue resolved in a fortnight Ms. Ahuja, so with all due respect, get off my back about it. In the meantime I want you to meet with more local vendors that are interested in selling to us directly. There’s an old family run store in Marché Saint-Pierre that sells the most coveted raw silk in all of Paris and I want as much of it as they’ll be willing to part with; no expense is too expensive. Got it?”

Honey nods in clear agreement, “raw silk is so hot with every designer right now, and I know the shop you’re speaking of, it’s an excellent find. You know, that silk is hand made the same way as would be traditionally woven in the 14th century. ” She enthuses, pulling out her tablet and tapping away furiously at it, “I’ll contact the owners right away.”

She pauses, glances over at him curiously, “so does this mean you have someone in mind for a new head designer?” She asked mildly, making it clear she wasn’t keen on the secrecy, but this was one thing Adrien really wanted to do his own way.

He shrugged in response, “Just an old friend of mine; Marinette Dupain-Cheng. She may be the exact thing we’ve been missing this whole time.”

“Sounds like you have a lot of faith in her.” Honey says mildly, putting her tablet away and piercing Adrien with a sharp amber gaze full of suspicion. She clearly hates it when a new hire hasn’t been approved by her first and it’s not like Adrien even has a copy of Mari’s resume to give to her.

“I do,” he answers simply. “I’m going to a concert with her and my other friends Nino and Alya tonight, I’ll talk to her about this when I see her, I can’t imagine she’d turn such an opportunity down.”

Honey looks unconvinced. “We’ll see about that.” She says with a shrug.

“_We_?” Adrien echoes incredulously, but all Honey does is laugh, “pick me up on your way. I don’t _do_ public transit.” She tells him. “I’m so excited to meet this mysterious designer friend of yours.”

And with that Honey takes her leave while Adrien stands dumbly in the middle of his aquarium, watching people scurry like ants on the sidewalks and streets below him. The queasy feeling in his stomach returns and he steps behind his desk, fingers shaking as he splashes more scotch into his tumbler from the decanter sitting on the handsome dry bar beside him.

“You’re meeting with your friends at _Le Trou_ tonight.” Plagg sits on top of a paperweight, tilting his head to the side as he looks at Adrien. “Bit early in the day to pregame, don’t you think?”

“I don’t want to talk about this with you,” Adrien growls, swivelling in his chair to turn his back on the kwami, taking a sip of his scotch and leafing though a takeout menu on his desk, “plus I’m ordering an early dinner after my next meeting, so...”

He takes another sip in what he feels is dignified silence.

But Plagg’s answering silence speaks volumes Adrien isn’t at all comfortable with. It’s too quiet in the office now that they’re alone so he puts on a playlist consisting of Wagner and Strauss and blasts it at near deafening volume while he answers his emails.

Plagg, used to this by now curls up on an unreleased issue of the newest Vogue magazine Honey had insisted Adrien leaf through for “inspiration” with the quarter wheel of Camembert from the café and snacks his way through the noise filled afternoon, gaze flicking to his holder every now and again, full of concern for the blonde man wearing bags underneath his chartreuse eyes and a five o’clock shadow on his jaw, exhausted because he was kept awake at night by demons he was pretending weren’t there.

It was too much the things Kwamis had to witness, Plagg thought to himself as he settled on his stomach to take a nap. It was a wonder Nooroo didn’t go insane after all he had been through.

🐞

“Marinette, for millionth time stop messing with your hair! You look hot, but you need to relax.” Alya admonished her fidgety friend.

They were seated on the high barstools in the underground club appropriately named “_Le Trou_”, drinks in hand, surveying the packed environment with a casual air.

Or at least Alya was.

Marinette however kept fiddling with a gorgeous braid crown, kept tugging at the red dress she’d made a while ago but hadn’t worn out of the house once, kept lifting her wineglass to her lips only to take the barest of sips before setting it down again.

The dress she wore was composed of the finest chiffon, satiny to the touch, with straps so thin they were nearly invisible, slung over her shoulder just so, and sporting a very low back. The skirt portion ended in a flutter of fabric that stopped just a few inches above her knees, legs elongated by a pair of nude pumps, and no accessory besides those earrings she treasured above all the gemstones in the world.

A poor choice of wardrobe if one considered the weather outside but the bar portion was so packed it made the space stiflingly warm, and she’d already removed her black trench coat, draping it over the back of her chair.

She was nursing a glass of Beaujolais nearly the same colour as her dress, her lips left pale and glossy, her eyes shadowed in smoky mineral glitter and Alya was dying to know who her friend had dressed up so beautifully for.

Fiddling with her cocktail napkin, Alya signalled for another martini, smoothing non-existent creases in her peach toned lace jumpsuit as she searched the bar for Nino. Ugh! She shook her high ponytail in frustration when she realized Marinette’s fidgeting was rubbing off on her, and eyed the dance floor longingly.

“Come on girl, let’s go.” Alya insists, grabbing her friend’s hand and dragging her towards the middle of the sweaty room, “the band is about to start anyways and you know I _hate_ watching them from back here.”

“Alya, our stuff...”

Marinette sighs in exasperation digging in her heels at first but relenting anyways, relieved when the red headed mixologist waiting on them snags their coats and purses and puts them behind the bar as they depart.

“Thank you Nathaniel!” She calls over her shoulder as Alya drags her away, watching their friend shake his head and chuckle at the pair of them in response, not bothering to start in on making Alya’s martini until she got back.

As Kitty Section take to their stations along the stage, Alya tugs and shoves herself and Marinette up to the front, waving gaily at their friends, her eagle eyes immediately catching the double take from Luka at the sight of her friend in her pretty red dress before he winks at Marinette with a curl of a smirk that even has Alya blushing a little.

She watches her friend wave shyly back in turn at the handsome guitarist, noting how he lights up, while he grins at her easily, tuning his new _Prodipe_ and leaning against the large amp in a sinful pair of black jeans slung low on his hips, his arms looking nicely toned in a studded leather jacket with the sleeves torn off.

If Alya wasn’t mistaken that was the only item of clothing he had on his upper torso. She smirked at the glazed look her friend was sporting as they watched Luka make his way across the stage with the rest of the band.

As _Kitty Section _had grown more popular and they’d obviously gotten older, some of the band’s image had really shifted, the name now seeming to mean something raunchy, maybe a little dirty and it’d surprisingly been Juleka’s idea.

The band now sporting more punk than before, the only pink Rose now wore was a shock of it through her bangs, the rest of her hair white blonde and sported in a severe undercut. Her big blue eyes were always found ringed in black and silver eyeshadow and she was currently wearing a holey grey t-shirt jersey dress, ripped spider web tights on underneath and clunky red creepers, a tattered flannel shirt that once belonged to Juleka tied around her waist.

Ivan still seemed to be the same, maybe because he was already in a place where his translation of his music to his clothing hadn’t needed to evolve, sleeveless black razorback shirts and torn jeans were his go to while chunky leather bracelets crowded around his wrists, hand stitched by his wife Mylené and a backwards snapback covered his buzz cut. Ivan was effortlessly the embodiment of what image KS was pushing for now.

But it was Juleka who had probably advanced most of all.

Coming into her willowy graceful figure and obvious beauty so confidently, the shy anxious teen she used to be was a mere shadow in comparison. She stood tall, messing about behind a synth board in a black lace romper expertly tailored to her figure, a giant bow tied around the back of the waist, the ensemble made specially for her by a dear friend in the audience.

She had fingerless lace black gloves on too, and a pair of silver velvet tights on underneath, accompanied by high heeled combat boots with dozens of buckles continuing down the sides. Her hair —now entirely black— was twisted into two messy buns on the top of her head, bluntly shorn bangs stopping just above her eyes. Her lips were painted pastel purple and her liner was a sharp exaggerated wing.

The band looked good, they fit well together and they were so incredibly successful already, Alya wasn’t surprised at all to hear they’d be performing at some of the same shows as Nino on the festival circuit, and was excited to bump into her friends on the road.

She’d been wondering to herself what the upcoming kind of lifestyle was going to do for her and Nino’s relationship, and was hoping the constant closeness and living out of each other’s pockets would work in their favour. It’s not like she was pushing for it or anything, but she’d really hoped they’d at least be talking about getting married by now.

Shaking her head at her runaway train of thought, she gets back into moving along to the music as the band starts up with “_Closure_”,an upbeat almost happy sounding —until you listened closely to the lyrics— song about breakup sex Alya suspects Juleka wrote about Rose.

And..._yikes_, how awful must that be, to still be in a band with your ex girlfriend.

As much as Alya hated to admit it, this would be perfect for her documentary and knowing how little Rose and Juleka cared about each other now she felt it would also serve as decent publicity for the band and a way for each of them to tell their own side, so she absolved to find a way to interview them when they bumped into each other on tour.

She noticed Mari eyeing her suspiciously so she tried to tame her ‘scheme face’ (as Marinette called it) she was wearing moments before into a mask of pure innocence in order to misdirect her friend.

Normally she’d be unsuccessful, but she had an advantage tonight and it was Marinette’s poorly disguised, hapless crush on Luka. It’s as cute as it is concerning, because usually when Marinette has a crush she gets shy, second guesses it, embarrasses herself around the person and shoots herself in the foot. Alya’s seen it up close and it’s not pretty especially if said person already has feelings for someone else.

As far as Alya can see, this time it’s heavily reciprocated and someone just needed to get those two crazy kids alone so they could talk about their feelings, or express them through actions and talk about it later... whatever came first.

Crap! Her scheme face was back, she could feel it. “I need that martini,” she lies politely to her friend, oh so the height of nonchalance, “brb.”

“You did _not_ just say ‘brb’.” Marinette laughs, but Alya is already gone, on her way back to the bar.

Sighing, Marinette turns back to the performance, smiling at the sight of Luka perched on top of one of the amps, shredding a solo like his life depends on it, because when he’s up there, thats what it is for him.

They’ve spent a lot more time together one on one recently —ever since she’d officially unofficially hung up the Ladybug mantle ten months ago—, and he’s been a good distraction from the pain left by the loss of her partner. Sometimes they talk for hours, sometimes Marinette doesn’t want to talk at all. She just brings her sketchbook working wordlessly, while Luka composes melodies and works on new songs and fills the silence with the sweetest music she’s ever heard.

But the stuff he plays onstage?

It’s different, it’s his lifeblood, he tells her. Its what pumps through his veins and keeps him going, and she gets it, she can’t tell him why she gets it so she says it’s because of her designs, and it’s partly true, when she’s working on her designs its within a soft, comfortable bubble unless she’s trying to meet a deadline.

But when she’s Ladybug?

She comes alive, flies though the night and spits into the face of danger with her heart pounding in her ears and her adrenaline spiking to sky high levels. She missed a good fight to get her blood going, get her on her guard in seconds, and she’d realized she didn’t quite know how go about life without that fire under her feet anymore.

“It’s something to push you out of bed every morning, it keeps you anchored in reality” she realized aloud to him.

Luka had smiled at her, and played a little riff of something plaintive and sure, making her heart feel light as she beamed back at him.

“That’s exactly what it is.” He said then.

He’s watching her now from his vantage point, eyes sparkling as he blows her a cheeky kiss, leaps back down onto the stage to continue the set, laughing as some of the dedicated fans that come to every single show throw flowers and trinkets onstage at them while the show is wrapping up, and as usual by now the stage is littered with pink roses in honour of the lead singer.

She gathers them faux bashfully, waving like a Miss America type once she’s holding a sizeable bouquet, a gimmick to lead up to the penultimate song of the night. Marinette gets why it’s so popular; though she still can’t help but feel that it’s a little mean. Juleka starts in on a heavy mechanical beat, her face an emotionless mask as the eerie sound pulses though the bar in a rumble the patrons feel under their feet, shifting excitedly in anticipation as the song itself is easily going to be their hit single when they make it big.

Ivan smacks his drumsticks together in quick rhythmic succession, and the band cacophonies in all at once in a caterwaul of noise while Rose pirouettes and throws the bouquet she’s gathered back to the crowd like a bride on her wedding day, pink petals flying absolutely everywhere.

“_Almost Fuckin Married Her”_ is the most blatant thing Rose ever wrote about Juleka, and it’s so harsh, so angry and it comes from a well of hurt Marinette aches to comprehend better, so she can understand why Juleka forgave her ex enough to allow the song on the set list and have it lashed in her face every night they perform it. Luka always looks a little stiff when he plays it, his jawline a little sharper and his gaze hardly leaving Rose’s back as he glares daggers.

Marinette shakes her head.

As if staring her down will make playing this song any less uncomfortable for anyone involved. Or undo the damage done. She observes the tension in Juleka and Luka’s shoulders sympathetically as they make their way through the short but scathing tune.

She’s idly wondering where Alya’s wandered off to when she realizes she recognizes the tall blonde man in a soft looking dark blue denim button up making his way through the crowd over to her with a fashionably dressed and painfully gorgeous coffee skinned woman in tow.

“Marinette! Hey!”

Adrien squeezes his way in between her and an obnoxious American tourist couple beside her, not even glancing back to see if his leggy companion had caught up to him yet.

“I need to have a word with you.” He has to shout over the bridge of the song to be heard as he stares at her in slight urgency, taking her elbow in a sure yet gentle hold.

His hands are warm and he may have hit the bar a little early but he’s smiling and seems to have the air like he’s got the most important news and it simply _cannot_ wait. She recognizes the behaviour —but can’t place it for the life of her—, the premature optimism he exudes and laughs a little in spite of herself, already endeared.

“Sure, but after this song? Its the last one, then we can sit by the bar and we can talk.”

She absentmindedly brushes his bangs out of his eyes when they start to fall into his face as she all but shouts back to him; “I’m glad you came out tonight, and grabbed coffee with us this morning, it’s been a long time.” Marinette smiles, her hand still lightly touching his cheek.

Something flashes in his eyes and then he beams back at her placidly, the music around them fading as the song draws to a close.

“Too long.” he agrees in a flattened and quieter voice.

Marinette isn’t sure if the wine’s gone to her head but she swears he presses his cheek into her palm then with a contented sigh. She pulls her hand back awkwardly and Adrien releases her, still standing close enough beside her to let their arms brush however, as the woman he came in with strides up to them.

“There you are.” She says in a pointed and brittle voice to Adrien, but he doesn’t look ruffled in the slightest by her tone. Her icy gaze pierces Marinette, but before she can speak to her the blonde man between them interrupts, “we’ll talk to her after. This is the last song.”

Marinette fights a smile, looking up to watch Luka start the lengthy intro to “_Cobblestones and Broken Bones_”.

It’s an homage he wrote about his childhood with Juleka, raising themselves through adventures on the sidewalks and making humble beginnings right off the streets of Paris. Its a sweet song, oftentimes a tearjerker and one of the only ones where Luka does the vocals entirely, his voice a better fit than Rose’s for the melancholy tone of the song.

Marinette sways side to side dreamily, letting the ballad like number wash over her for the millionth time while Adrien absorbs it all, taking in the lyrics for the first time.

He seems a little wistful, and she can relate. She wonders what he first initially felt or thought of when he heard it. She hates to admit it, but she knows it always reminded her of her companionship with Chat Noir, which had made it hard to enjoy when her wounds were still fresh. But Adrien merely lit up again when the song was over, his face a mask of calm contentment and his lips pulled up in a smile that Marinette was beginning to notice never reflected in his gaze.

“They’re so incredible.” He says, and it’s clear he means it, but his green eyes still seem despondent. “I’d really love to say hi to everyone after our conversation.”

He gestures to the bar, a few top buttons on his shirt had come undone in his fight to get to her through the crowd earlier and as Marinette eyes the smooth expanse of his chest she feels flushed and in dire need of a drink.

“Let’s go.” She agrees, making her way to the bar with her old friend following close behind her.

Adrien turns his head to his companion. “Ms. Ahuja, are you coming?”

The goddess practically floats over to them; all smooth legs, pouty lips and long satiny chocolate hair styled in an expensive looking blowout. She crosses her arms over her chest as she eyes Marinette suspiciously and Marinette merely smiles back shyly.

“Marinette Dupain Cheng meet my advisor, Honey Ahuja.” Adrien offers as explanation, “more my babysitter, to be honest.”

He adds the last part in a displeased undertone and Marinette stifles a laugh, extending her hand to Ms. Ahuja.

“Pleased to meet you.” She demurs to the ice queen before her.

“Pleasure’s all mine. Listen this is a pressing matter and I really feel we should get straight to why we’re here.” Honey replies stiffly, while somehow making out shaking Marinette’s hand to be of an enormous inconvenience to her.

Marinette has handled all the Lila’s and formerly antagonistic Chloé’s of Paris especially since entering the world of fashion, so Honey’s uppity behaviour didn’t irk her in the slightest, something Honey immediately caught on to, and seemed minutely impressed by.

“Well. Do tell. I’m on the edge of my seat,” Marinette said as she swirled her wine in her glass. She takes a small sip, purveying her former classmate and his companion warily.

“Of course. But first of all, Adrien here tells me you’re an incredible designer, so naturally I have to ask you why you didn’t toss your hat in the ring when we were initially scouting for new designers last November.”

Honey’s tone is accusing and Marinette blanches from it.

_Because I was too busy keeping our city safe from a madman that owned the company you’re now trying to salvage?_

“I didn’t know about it.” She lies through her teeth, noticing Luka coming up from the crowd, dressed in his street clothes, his sister and other band mates in tow and feels her stomach flip as he rakes his fingers through his messy bangs, the blue now faded almost to silver.

Stuck between refereeing Rose and Juleka during rehearsals, kept busy as manager with the band’s upcoming rise to fame, and late nights working the bar with Nate and Marc, he hadn’t made much time for himself lately and this was the longest he’d gone without dying his hair, yet he still looked as handsome as ever despite his semi frazzled appearance.

“And I was really busy with schoolwork.” She adds unnecessarily, tearing her gaze off Luka and taking a bigger gulp of her wine to keep herself occupied.

Honey scoffs in response but doesn’t press, choosing to having a wordless argument with Adrien instead, gesturing to him like she wants him to press the issue for her.

Marinette ignores this and waves hello to her friends across the bar, “is there something you wanted to tell me?” She asks Adrien, hoping to get this awkward dance over with so she can go and say her hellos.

“I want you to come work for me as my head designer.” Adrien says. “I can help negotiate a flexible schedule so you can manage balancing work and schooling. I’ve already spoken with most of your professors for this term and they’ve all been very cooperative to accommodate such an opportunity for you as you haven’t heard back from any of the internships you applied to and you do need to have one for this program you’re in as I understand it.”

He takes a sip of his scotch and looks Marinette so earnestly she feels as though she’s frozen under the weight of his stare.

“And in all honesty,” he sighs a little quietly, and she finally sees how worn out and deflated he actually is, how he’s only just holding the pieces together for this conversation alone.

“I need your skill set Marinette. Between you and I, the company is barely afloat, I have no idea what I’m doing and you’re one of the most talented and refreshingly original designers I have to good fortune to know.”

The praise is embarrassingly flattering, when Marinette makes to protest, Adrien forcefully steamrolls ahead,

“I also know how many big names in fashion would _kill_ to have you up their sleeve once you’ve graduated so I’m cutting the line, and I’m completely willing to work with your schedule. That being said this is more than a mere internship, and you’re going to have a lot more work and more responsibilities than anyone else in your program, but it’s also going to open a lot more doors for you than for them, so what do you say?”

He looks so hopeful, and her mind is churning with a violent slew of thoughts at once. It’s an amazing opportunity, but to have school and to be working at the same time sounds like a lot. Sure she’d be moving forward with more experience under her belt than most of her peers and that’s a huge upside, and she knows it. Pair that with the fact Adrien was working with _the_ Honey Ahuja, someone Marinette was chagrined to realize she’s only now clued in is one of the biggest names in fashion marketing.

It meant this comeback for Agreste Designs was going to be spectacular, and she could be a part of all that, but it would be a huge undertaking and a huger responsibility, and by the sounds of it she would working pretty closely with Adrien.

She squirmed in her seat, “can I think on it?” She asks him nervously, “this is a lot for me to take in.”

“Of course,” Honey answers for Adrien right away, “but we are on a bit of a deadline, so we’ll need to know by tomorrow—”

“—_night_.” Adrien cuts Honey off, throwing her a sharp look, “tomorrow night at the latest, any time before midnight, please.”

Before Marinette can respond, Luka’s upon them, squeezing Marinette’s shoulder in greeting as his first two band mates mill by their end of the bar to snag their drinks from Nathaniel, Rose slips up behind Honey to grab her vodka soda off of Marc.

“Scuse me there, gorgeous.” She says, squeezing the woman’s hip as she nudges her way in to snag her drink.

Juleka rolls her eyes at the display, mumbling unkind curses under her breath as she throws back her shot and takes off with her beer in a huff to sit with Ivan and Mylené at a table on the other side of the bar.

Honey eyes Rose up and down appreciatively before they’re suddenly in deep, flirty conversation and ignoring everyone else at the bar, to which Luka narrows his eyes in annoyance but doesn’t comment on it. He busies himself with taking a swig from his bottle of Stella, turning his attention on Marinette instead. 

“Were the lights really crazy tonight or did I see you in the crowd talking with Adrien Agreste towards the end of the show?” He jokes, looking more uneasy as opposed to amused.

“No, he’s right here,” She gestures behind Luka and he jumps, reddening when he realizes he’d been standing between the two of them the whole time.

He abashedly shakes Adrien’s hand, and chats him up, complementing him on his new eyewear and asking him how he’s been. There’s a terse moment when he inquires to how Adrien’s studies are going and the wistful eyed blonde admits he dropped out after his father was arrested because there was so much else going on that he had to take care of, school became a bit of moot point.

“It’s understandable,” Luka comments after a pause, “I imagine I’d do the same if I had that much else on my plate. And you could go back once things have calmed down later. There’s always later.”

He puts it lightly, not out of condescension, but out of respectful sympathy.

The tense line in Adrien’s shoulder loosens, but he still he downs his scotch in a flash, his face a manic mask of friendliness as he demands to know how the in the hell an amazing band like _Kitty Section_ is still only local and not a household name yet, raving over how the great the show was and bemoaning how much he missed playing piano with them.

“Hey anytime you feel like a jam session you just let me know, Agreste.” Luka says, grins at first, then eyes Rose and Honey giggling away in a private banquette booth far from everyone else, clearly in their own little world.

“But as far as why we haven’t made it big yet, we’ve hit a few rough patches and we’re not as symbiotic as we used to be. We’re working it through in the music, very á la _Fleetwood Mac_ if you will. But these things take time.”

He moodily peels at the label of his beer, while Marinette looks on in concern.

She knows he’s felt so torn between the band and his sister. Juleka wants out, it’s not a secret at this point and although she’s made it clear she’s fine with Luka staying, she knows she can’t drop everything and leave until they efficiently replace her, and it’s not like she’s got easy shoes to fill.

“That’s unfortunate to hear. I hope everything can be resolved.” Adrien says gently, his eyes drooping. He looks exhausted.

“Sorry to show up and then take off like this but I’ve been in Los Angeles for a while and only got back to Paris a few nights ago. I’m still jet lagged and we made a promise to our friends to help them pack up their apartment tomorrow morning, so I’m headed home to get some rest. I think Nino sent you my new number ages ago Mari, but get it off of Honey before she leaves tonight just in case.”

He rises, signalling for his check much like he did in the cafe earlier today. “No pressure of course, but I am really hoping you’ll say yes, it would be so awesome to work with you.”

He smiles at her, shrugs a gorgeous pony hair bomber jacket over an impressive physique she knows he didn’t have the last time she’d seen him in person, and winks at Luka conspiratorially.

“See you around Luka, and you tomorrow Marinette. I hope you both have a wonderful night.”

The way he says it sends her heart to the bottom of Marinette’s stomach, because it would make perfect sense that she’s here dressed so nicely to see Luka after the show, would make perfect sense that he’s her boyfriend and that they’re here together, but somehow that’s not the case.

The case is that she’d slipped into one of her more daring, sexier pieces tonight in a vain attempt to feel nothing like the foolishly babbling girl she used to feel like around Adrien when they were younger. To prove to herself, maybe even to him that she was not that child anymore, but a calm collected, interesting young woman going places in life.

She felt nothing of the sort now, watching him leave the bar stooped and tired. She already knew she was going to say yes to this opportunity, she just hoped she would be doing it for the right reasons.

“He’s right you know,” Marinette says cheerfully, turning in her stool to face Luka, “you guys should be a household name by now.”

She catches him leaning back in his stool, drinking in her red dress and dewy skin on display with a soft look in his eyes and suddenly feels very shy.

“I don’t mind staying local,” he comments mildly, still fiddling with the torn label on his beer and shifting a little closer to her at the bar, “all the best things in my life are right here.”

He looks at her earnestly, tucks her loose tendrils from her braid crown back much like she’d done with Adrien’s bangs earlier that evening. “Can I walk you home?” He asks her like he does every night since the first night she came to see them play.

And every night she says yes.

He’ll lend her his jacket and they talk lightheartedly the whole way home, but he usually asks much later, when it’s nearly last call and it’s almost better they take a cab but they don’t, Luka insisting the fresh air will help wake them up as he lets her lean on him until she gets control of her woozy legs.

“Yes but I want to stay a while longer,” she insists as she orders another glass and waves to Alya, resurfaced in the crowd and clearly searching for her. “Is that okay?”

Luka nods while standing, saying he’s going to go talk with Ivan. He hesitates, cupping Marinette’s face in his hand and planting a soft kiss to her forehead before he strides away, leaving her flustered and pink cheeked by the time her best friend takes his vacated seat.

“Please tell me you’re boning him, or at least seriously thinking about it already.”

Alya urges, plunking herself into the bar stool with gusto, “I’ve been picking his brain for the last ten minutes over his big fat crush on you and I think I’ve emboldened him enough to make his move.”

Choking on her wine, Marinette clears her throat, nose and eyes stinging as she pouts despondently at her friend and waves Nathaniel away so she and Alya can speak privately.

“What are you talking about?” She demands, “wait never mind, I actually don’t want to know. You’re _meddling_ Alya and you promised you’d stop doing that after that fiasco with Lila.”

“That facility is for her own good.” Alya points out mildly, “even her mom thinks so.”

“Still, that wasn’t the right way to go about it. And you know how much I don’t like her so please, please, please don’t think I’m defending her actions, but the consequences—”

“—she was working with them.” Alya interrupts to remind Marinette under her breath ferociously, “she was a dangerous criminal that needed serious help, and nothing we said or did was going to convince that poisonous toadstool change her spots willingly, so Chloé and I did what needed to be done.”

Alya sighs and shakes her head, navigating back to her main point of conversation,

“enough about that. Luka likes you. Just talk to him, I don’t know what’s been stopping you. I mean, I have an inkling but I don’t like it so I’m not saying anything, only that you deserve to be happy Mari, stop waiting on the guys that aren’t going to show up or stick around, it isn’t worth it.”

She squeezes her friend’s arm then leaves silently with Nino, who’d been waiting by the door for her with their coats. Marinette watched them go, stung by the unintentional patronization in her best friend’s tone. She knew Alya was just worried about her and didn’t want Marinette to waste her time waiting for Chat Noir to come back, but she didn’t understand. He’d promised.

And he never broke those, not the ones he made to Ladybug anyways.

Feeling low, she climbed off the barstool she’d been perched on, and made her way over to the table where her 3/4ths of Kitty Section and Mylené were seated in favour of sitting next to Rose and trying to carry a conversation with her while she was still trying to pick Honey up.

Juleka was grumbling under her breath about what a waste of time it is for her to do these shows now that she’s back at Law school full time, while Mylené is soothingly trying to distract her by talking about the small budget grant she’d scored for her indie horror production of the catacombs.

Ivan is clearly proud, Marinette catching the tail end of his boasting of how it was down to her and one other student as she approaches the table.

“He’s in his final year, nearly made the short list for Cannes Film Festival with a kitschy stop motion dystopian nightmare piece last time but he still can’t hold a candle to my baby,” Ivan adds smugly ignoring when Mylené elbows his ribs bashfully, clearly shy over the praise.

“That’s amazing Mylené, congratulations!” Marinette says, smiling warmly at her friend as she tucks herself into the space beside Luka.

His thigh presses to hers immediately, his body buzzing and warm, the denim from his jeans rough against the skin of her leg when her skirt rides up against the tacky leather seat of the booth. She blushes, makes to fix her skirt but Luka’s hand drifts under the table to tangle their fingers together before she can grab for her hem.

“Thank you Marinette!” Mylené sings back eagerly, leaning across the table to her friend, “I was hoping I could commission you to make some of the costumes for my movie? And help me piece together looks? You have such an eye for it you’ll help me bring my vision to life perfectly!”

Marinette nods back just as excitedly, “oh I’d be more than happy to!”

Her schedule was starting to look a little overbooked to her, but she used to be Ladybug. She could do it, she was sure of it.

She flexed her fists in determination and had realized a second too late she was still holding Luka’s hand underneath the table and had unconsciously squeezed his fingers. She glanced over at him as inconspicuously as possible, noting his cheeks had flushed, a small smile was playing around his lips and she thought about what Alya said.

Her words still stung a little but they rang with truth.

Chat was gone, but Luka was right here holding her fingers in his own, and rubbing his thumb against the top of her hand, smiling at her in such a calm and contented kind of way that made her feel at completely at ease. 

She yearned to feel that way more often.

It took nearly an hour and forty five minutes for Marinette to tear herself away from planning costumes with Mylené, but in that time Luka had gone from rubbing his thumb along her hand, to along her thigh and her skin felt hot all over each time he slowly made contact with it, and it was driving her crazy.

“Walk me home?” She finally asked him sweetly.

He smiled back, a gleam of something in his eye that she liked, “sure. Let me just pay our tab and we can go.”

The walk back is mostly silent for the first time ever. Luka’s fingers still tangled with hers and had been since the bar. It had been amusing and a little adorable to see him attempt to fish his wallet out and open it one-handed, for when she’d loosened her grip to let him have the full use of both hands to pay the tab, he’d only squeezed her fingers tighter, refusing to let go, and she found herself still blushing furiously after the fact.

“I really like you, Marinette.” Luka says softly as they slow to a halt in front of her building.

She looks up into his face, his gaze is gentle but hesitant, and she felt it had something to do with seeing Adrien tonight as he was more than aware of the giant unrequited crush Marinette used to have on him.

Once they’d begun to spend more time together he seemed so comfortable and sure of himself around her, seemed confident in how well they worked together, but tonight he seemed so shy, and a little troubled.

“Alya seems to be labouring under the impression you have feelings for me too, and I really hope she’s right, but I understand if you’d just like to be friends, I still cherish the time we spend together. I may have needed to tell you how I feel, but I respect your decision either way. I just... I just wanted you to know how much I care about you, I always have.”

Luka cups her face gently, and her cheeks are hot, her eyes widening at his saccharine declaration.

“Luka,” she smiles as she says his name, liking the blush that’s settling on his cheeks, “I love spending time with you, and I feel that I do like you a lot more than as a friend, and I would really like to see where this goes.”

She really means it, and her heart feels light to know she’s capable of this, of moving on and letting herself be appreciated by someone who hasn’t left her, has been nothing but a constant in her life, someone who truly does care for her.

It feels natural, it feels right.

“Marinette, may I—”

She has a feeling she knew what he was going to ask, so she stretched up on her tiptoes and met him halfway.His lips were soft, and his strong arms encircled her the second she melted into the kiss.

His aftershave was cedar-wood and vanilla musk, and it made her dizzy in the very best way. He ran his hands through her hair and thumbed over her cheekbones tenderly as he cupped her face sweetly. When they both pulled back for a breath, they rested their foreheads together, Marinette was still flushed and a little trembly from the nerves and the thrumming of adrenaline in her body after such a kiss.

“_Wow_.” She sighs and she felt Luka grin inches from her lips.

“My thoughts exactly.” He sighed back. He kisses her again softly, just a quick and gentle press of his lips this time before he pulled back and took her hand, placing a kiss on that too as he backed down her stoop.

“I’ll let you get in and get some rest, and I’ll text you once I’m home. I want to stay with you more than anything tonight and I think that’s why I shouldn’t.” He murmurs to her, and her stomach swoops at the intent behind his words.

“You could come in for a cup of tea?” She offers coyly, and Luka narrows his eyes playfully at her.

“You’ve got school tomorrow and I’ve got rehearsal. Plus I want to take you on a real date first, we deserve at least that don’t we?”

“I’d happily go on a hundred dates with you first.” Marinette surprises herself by rushing forward to plant another quick kiss on Luka, “meet me for lunch tomorrow?”

Luka smiles warmly and nods, “I’ll see you at noon? That little place you like by the bridge?”

_The bridge._

Marinette pales and shakes her head.

“It’s a bit of a trip to there with all the traffic at that time of day, how about we meet that new bistro that opened near my school instead? I’ve heard lots of good things about it.”

Luka agrees, and they bid goodnight again, another quick peck, a squeeze of fingers and then she’s taking her steps two at a time, head dizzy with the events of the evening, and a tickle of excitement in her bones at the idea of seeing Luka for lunch tomorrow.

Her good mood plummets however when she thinks back to the bridge, to the final battle with Papillon.How could he just let his partner fall like that? Why hadn’t he tried to save her?

Marinette felt sick, she’d known he was evil but not _that_ evil.

That poor woman had screamed out to him before she was struck down, appearing unconscious or dead before she even hit the water and he didn't even glance back, didn’t even flinch when she cried out, so focused instead on his entirely futile attempt to seize the Miraculouses he’d been after for so long, and now thanks to him the Peacock Miraculous was lost and that poor woman was lost too.

Whoever she had been.

And while they may have been on opposing sides, Marinette couldn’t help but feel guilty for Mayura and for what had become of her.

With a sigh of frustration she unlocked her door and reached in to turn the light switch on, freezing when she felt the tiny almost nonexistent hairs on the back of her neck stand up, and her arms sprouted in goosebumps.

Someone was in her apartment.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> as I said before I will try to update as much as I can. I maybe eventually post the illustrations that go with the story, but I’ll be posting them on my blog because I don’t like the format on this site.
> 
> Happy reading!
> 
> -Marichaten🖤


	3. ma mémoire est comme la seine; plein de mort

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tensions are high and players are moving across an invisible chessboard while our heroes stay rooted in their first positions.  
In light of the recent absence of two core members of her team, will Ladybug have to rely on Chat more now than ever? And what does this mean for her future as the Guardian of the Miraculous?

(Ten Months Ago)

Adrien was in a rush, shoving things into a bag.

Medical supplies, food, a warm blanket, he didn't know what else he could do or what else he could bring. He just knew he had to go from the scene of the accident, to where the river let out to the beaches.

He had to know she wasn’t dead.

Before he could set foot out of his bedroom, ignoring the small voice in his head insisting he stay put, he heard it.

The clattering at his window.

The lightning throws his room into distorted shapes and shadows, his eyes adjust in to the briefly lit up room, focus onto the wet shape of Ladybug standing in the frame of his nearest window, her face streaked with the rain and her pigtails undone to leave wet messy hair tumbling down her shoulders.

If Adrien wasn’t so numb from the battle he’d just fought alongside her a few hours previous, the view would be a vision. He moves jerkily, like his limbs are in their own command, sliding open his window and staring into her beautiful bluebell eyes.

They’re full of tears, and he has a feeling he knows why she’s here.

“Your father is the Papillon.” Her voice is a shaky whisper.

He already knew of course, but he hasn’t heard it said aloud yet, and while it’s quite a horrible sinking feeling to know it, it’s almost worse to hear it, especially from his Lady’s own mouth,

“Adrien, I’m so sorry.”

“I know who he is,” he grates out numbly, “and I’m sure he’ll get what he deserves when they take him in.”

He knows his father somehow made bail and is on his way home to await trial, but Adrien has zero intentions of being home when the rat bastard arrives. Besides, he has somewhere else he has to be, and tells Ladybug as much.

She looks troubled by his coolly blasé response to the news.

“The authorities are speaking to Mayor Bourgeois about having the judge waive the trial, and send him straight to prison for life. The years of evidence and witnesses stacked against him are significant, and he has very little chance of winning regardless. Its being viewed as a waste of the High Court Justice’s time.” Ladybug bites her lip, “he’ll spend the rest of his life behind bars, Adrien.”

When she pauses Adrien shrugs. “Okay? So why tell me?” He asks her.

Ladybug fidgets in the window, letting in all the rain. “I just thought you would want to know. He made some horrible choices but he’s your family and if you don’t get closure with him now you might not get another chance to again and you may regret it.”

“I don’t give a damn, and I don’t need closure.” Adrien spits. “Let him go to prison, I hope he _rots_ in there.”

He turns on his heel and leaves, his face an ugly mask of hatred he spots reflected in every shiny surface he glimpses in the rooms he passes though. Ladybug doesn’t follow, merely swings her way back into the stormy night and for once he could give less of a fuck as to where she’s going.

By the time the car has pulled around the gate, he’s shaking with poorly concealed rage.

He knows it’d be faster to get where he needs to be as Chat Noir but something about today is different for the first time in nine frustratingly long years. If he’s seen as his superhero alter ego he’ll be followed, questioned about details of the battle and for once he’s relishing in a bit more discretion and privacy as Adrien Agreste, everyone seems to pity that side of him far too much to bother him right now.

It’s as irritating as it is relieving.

He’s on a mission once he’s out of town, wandering desperately along the beach and he combs through miles of wet sand for so long he starts to wonder if he’s just set off on the most fruitless endeavour possible and it doesn’t help when the sky gets dark and he doesn’t find a thing, not a clue or a hint of what —of who really —he’s looking for.

Maybe he should’ve told Ladybug, maybe she could have helped him.

The Gorilla is leaning against the car, face subdued and stoic as usual, standing underneath an umbrella as Adrien remains intent to scour the beach in the pouring rain. By the time the deluge is splashing wet sand up his legs and its so dark that he can’t see a hand in front of his face he stalks back to the car, collapsing in the back seat on the blanket he’d brought that had been spread out for him, his lips trembling and blue, his arms wrapped tightly around his middle as if to try and stop himself from shaking uncontrollably.

His silent bodyguard wordlessly starts the car, and drives them back towards the city. Adrien rolls onto his back and stares glassily at the raindrops splattering against the sunroof of the car. He puts up the partition, squeezing his numb hands into fists and waits as calmly as he can in his current state until they stop at the petrol station he’d noticed on their way to the beaches.

He changes into Chat Noir behind the dumpster out back and takes back off towards the coast, his eyesight in the dark significantly improved by his transformation. He resumes his search alone in the pouring rain, wincing dramatically whenever a particularly large droplet falls on his head.

He eventually stumbles on an enormous culvert that leads into to the ocean, rocks and debris littering the entrance of it, the thing easily the size of a large submarine. He steps tentatively inside, walking uphill against the strong current of knee deep murky water, sweeping his eyes too and fro, as he picks his way carefully further within.

He’s walked a quite a few yards in thirty minutes when he notices a sensible low heeled shoe snagged on one of the rivulets lining the wall of the culvert, and a few feet away from it, a body.

Chat stills.

He knew there was a chance he’d find what he was fearing but nothing in the world could have prepared him for this. Inching closer, his eyes welling with tears, his mouth full of a quiet scream he heaves out in a loud puff of air while approaching Nathalie’s unmoving figure. He’d had a feeling he knew who was under Mayura’s mask especially after his father had been captured and his Miraculous seized by Ladybug. His concern had only deepened when Nathalie had been nowhere to be found hours after the final battle was over.

She’s battered and bloodied, her glasses are gone and her clothes are torn. The second she fell into the river Adrien knew she was done for, and his father didn’t even give her the courtesy of sparing a last glance her way when she sank. He knew she was technically the enemy, and had caused him nothing but suffering in working alongside his father but she didn’t know that he was Chat Noir. And when he was in her care as Adrien she was nothing but as kind as her job allowed her to be to him, and turned many a blind eye to his hapless attempts at teen rebellion because she’d clearly felt sorry for him.

Yes she wasn’t anything akin to a maternal figure growing up, but it was her devotion to Gabriel that had cost the wretched woman her life and no one deserved to die like that.

He’s not sure what to do now that he’s found her, the team all watched her hit the water before she de transformed and subsequently never resurfaced, so they’ve already written her off as a casualty of the final battle for peace and nothing more. He’s torn and he knows he can’t very well throw together a funeral, because then he’d have to explain how she died, and she died a villain; aiding the biggest crime boss in all of France, and he has a feeling that isn’t the way she’d want to be remembered.

After long deliberation and a much longer very fruitless attempt to search for her missing Miraculous in the water downstream from Nathalie’s corpse, he absolves to have her reported as missing and presumed dead when there’s eventually no leads on her whereabouts. He wishes there was a better send off he can give her, something a little more personal than exiting the culvert to cataclysm it; encasing her in a makeshift tomb of warped metal and broken rocks. Chat swallows the lump in his throat.

This was all the Papillon’s fault.

He transforms back somewhere along an empty stretch of highway and hitchhikes his way to Paris, pleasantly surprised when the teenage boys that pick him up don’t recognize him at all. It hits him when they ask where he’s headed that the trial is technically later that day and he requests to be delivered to the Palace Hotel as opposed to the manor, making liberal use of the shower in the luxurious suite reserved for him and ordering one of his more somber suits to be sent to the room.

🐞

On the ride to the beach Adrien hadn’t been able to get a minutes peace from his kwami until he’d transformed, the pesky creature nagging that he was wasting his time looking for the villainess and her Miraculous, and arguing with him that potentially hanging up the Chat Noir mantle after the trial was over would be impulsive and reckless.

Now Plagg’s been silent since the discovery at the beach, like he understands how volatile Adrien is and doesn’t want to upset him further. He wordlessly tucks himself into the breast pocket of Adrien’s suit without even as much as an inquiry to when he’ll get some Camembert or Brie and curls up into an imperceptible tight ball.

Although Adrien is grateful for the quiet, he still feels a bit wiggly and queasy, so even though its only nine in the morning, he nabs the bottle of _Rozelieures_ Single Malt staringholes in him from the minibar in the corner of his room, splashes a generous amount into a tumbler from one of the the _Glencairn Copita_ decanter sets commonly found in each of the luxury suites of the hotel, and forces himself to breathe.

The room is suffocating as he gets dressed in an exorbitantly expensive Hermés suit instead of wearing something from Gabriel designs. The action is simple, born out of a once childlike petty spite turned malignant and ugly while it had been festering underneath his skin all these years underneath the thumb of his villainous father.

Adrien stares at his pale, drawn face in the mirror, looking as all hell like he’d gone and aged five years in the last seventy-two hours and it irritates him, feeling lost while he fiddles with his cuff links, starting when a knock sounds at his door after he’d been standing solemnly in place for what could’ve easily been twenty minutes.

Chloé lets herself in, wearing a black Lanvin pantsuit embedded with thousands of minute sized diamonds, sporting a tightly cinched blazer with nothing underneath but a string of freshwater pearls around her neck, her glossy blonde hair a tamed river down her back and shoulders, a slash of wine red lipstick adorning her pout, larger in size than in her high school years due to her brief phase of lip injections as temporary therapy during her parent’s tumultuous but not altogether surprising divorce.

She always loved a good tragedy for an excuse to dress up but this time was different; she was dressed so glamorously out of the utmost respect for him and he felt a glow of warm comfort at the sight of her.

She stood stock still as she looked upon her childhood friend in pity, her baby blues wet with sadness while simultaneously never letting a stray teardrop fall and risk mussing her professionally applied eyeliner. She stays still and rigid for a long moment, something in her eyes almost guilty before she shakes it off and pulls him into a soft but tight embrace, mindful not to crease their respective suits.

“Adrikins, what on earth are you doing here still?”

She releases him and turns on the room’s widescreen tv, pointing a little exaggeratedly at the scene unfolding in front of the Agreste Manor;

“They waived his right to trial first thing this morning; your dad is going to prison for life. And even though he did some majorly messed up stuff, you should really be there right now, don’t you have anything you might want to say? I doubt you’re going to visit him in prison and trust me when I say that nobody would blame you, but if you want to tell him exactly what you think of him, that window is closing right now. You may not get another chance.”

A roar of noise in his ears, Adrien exits without so much as a goodbye but he has a feeling that Chloé understands.

He’d barely makes it home in time, his shoulders so stiff he swore he had creased the lines of his suit after all, his hands shaking as he exited the town car he arrived in.

The Gorilla —who had stood waiting for him at the front gate— cuts a swathe through the paparazzi and tabloid journalists clumped together like a school of fish, all vying for the first shot of the showdown between the prodigal son and his villainous father, but Adrien doesn’t give them what they came for. He wasn’t going to let anyone see how just much this man had taken from him, or how much they both had lost as a result.

He only wanted Gabriel to know; wanted him to sit with it, live in it for the rest of the miserable life that Adrien viciously hoped it would be a long and lonely one. He pauses long enough to let his father see him, but doesn’t give him the curtesy of returning the gaze. Instead he waits until he’s nearly beside the man, barely showing any trace of emotion at the sight of his only parental guardian he’d known for most of his life forcibly escorted by the police down the imposing steps of the cold museum he had been loathe to call home.

Adrien waits until they’re shoulder to shoulder before he finally says his last words to his father, still stares dead ahead past the man as he does:

“I’m Chat Noir. And Nathalie is dead, just as you are to me. Congratulations, I hope this was all worth it.”

He takes his leave, making his way up the stairs, ordering the remaining staff to take the night off, and within the first five minutes he steps into his graveyard of a house, he’s completely alone. The gravity and ordeal of the last few days settles itself into his bones, and when he shrugs out of his suit jacket, locks the doors behind himself, and slumps to the floor, does Adrien Agreste finally allow himself to grieve his loss.

He curls up on floor and sobs like his heart is breaking, because it is and it’s not pretty; snot bubbles out of his nose and his cries come out jagged and rough like he’s heaving up broken glass, he pounds at the floor until his knuckles are split open, keeps going until they turn purple and raw.

In the span of one horrifying final battle he’s lost everything.

They’d removed his mother from that nightmare pod in the basement when the authorities first seized the house and Adrien had been stunned in disbelief. It’d been one thing to come home knowing what he did after the whole ordeal, it had been another to find out his mother had been in a comatose state, barely clinging to life hidden away on a entire secret floor underneath his own feet this whole time.

It was like something out of a Stephen King novel.

He’d spent so long believing she’d run away, abandoned her family and left Adrien behind without a second thought, and this whole time she was in a state worse than death, kept prisoner by a coma and a maniacal man so hellbent on his quest for Adrien and Ladybug’s Miraculouses he’d lost sight of everything important.

Gabriel had let Adrien believe she left them, that she’d been content to disappear and that felt like the bigger betrayal than knowing his father was the Papillon, and he hated himself in that moment, for being weak enough to feel sorry for himself, to wish it’d been Gabriel who went over the bridge and not Nathalie. The Papillon may have finally been put behind bars, but it was a cold comfort. So what if he couldn’t hurt any more people? In Adrien’s opinion he’d already hurt enough as it was.

He’d taken away Adrien’s freedom and only gave it back to him in the form of terrorizing Paris; making Ladybug and Chat Noir a necessity in the first place. Adrien stared mutinously at the blood splattered ring on his swollen hand, hating it a little for what it represented.

He knew Ladybug and the others were planning on making a public statement soon, but he couldn’t bring himself to join them. He had a long talk with Plagg once he’d calmed down some in the car ride the night previous, and the kwami had reluctantly agreed that after his father was arrested, and Adrien had a minute to breathe; he would let the poor exhausted man take his ring off for a few days to try to sort his life out.

It was now that his father was taken away, his home gutted and his mother in the best healthcare facility France had to offer did he feel ready to slide his ring off over his bloody knuckle with painful difficulty, tears slipping down his face in silence as Plagg dematerialized in front of him.

“Chin up,”

his kwami speaks gently to him before disappearing into the Miraculous to wait until Adrien was ready to put it back on,

“you’ll always have me as your family kid.”

(Present Day)

Chat freezes where he was in the middle of trying to right himself from fall that had left him sprawled out painfully on his back, ears pricking up at the sound of Marinette’s key in the lock.

He just had to listen to Plagg after one too many at the bar didn’t he?

The whole way home, the little cat creature had been insisting he’d felt another kwami’s presence on Marinette, the same one he’d picked up on in the café earlier that day.

“I know for a fact nobody had a pocketful of Camembert in that dodgy pub because I was looking for some.”Plagg had sniffed haughtily;

“your friend is in the possession of a Miraculous and if I were you I’d be trying to figure out which one it is. Did it ever occur to you that Marinette may have found the Peacock Miraculous? And because nobody’s ever seen it before she might not even know what it looks like or know the significance of it and just assumed it was a pretty little trinket? Do you have any idea how much danger she could be in if anyone else were to find out she had it?”

His constant needling had bored a hole in Adrien’s head until he relented, and now here he was lying in a mass grave of perennials wondering how in the hell he was going to make a hasty exit with Marinette on the other side of the door.

His whole mission in the first place was to find and rightfully return the missing Miraculous and if it was as damaged as Plagg had told him it was it could cause Marinette serious harm and that was the last thing Adrien wanted.

He’d only meant to hop onto her terrace and wait for her to get home so he could ask her a few questions as Chat Noir and be on his way, but when he’d landed on the terrace and made to peer in the skylight to see if anyone was home, the rusty latch had given way and he’d fallen into her apartment in a mess of tangled limbs directly onto a forest of potted plants that had sat innocently on a table underneath said skylight.

The plants were mangled, dirt flung in every direction and his cheeks were burning with shame and embarrassment when Marinette had stepped inside and flicked on the lights for her living room, eyes wide and her phone clenched tightly in her left hand, raised slightly like she was about to brandish it like a weapon as if in anticipation.

She’d clearly had a sense something was afoot before she entered her home and he internally applauded her for her intuitiveness.

Upon seeing him, her face gives way from fear and suspicion to a flurry of different emotions; shock, concern, disbelief, and an incomprehensible anger he’s worried is directed at the state of her poor indoor garden.

“Chat Noir. What are you doing here?”

Her voice isn’t friendly and Chat winces against the frost in her voice.

She’d crossed her arms and narrowed her eyes suspiciously at him but had dropped her fighting stance in favour of standing perfectly still, like a model with their legs kicked apart at the end of a runway. He’d glad she didn’t come in guns blazing, because although she’s no match for him and the powers his Miraculous gives him, he doesn’t doubt for a second that she could hold her own if she was forced to.

Chat stands, brushing the dirt and soil from his thighs sheepishly.

“Hey there Princess. It’s a long story. The short version is I was on a patrol when I’d stopped to take a minute, didn’t time my landing right and quite literally fell through your skylight. I’m sorry about your plants, I’ll replace them.”

If he had time, he’d be impressed with his ability to blend a lie into a half truth so efficiently but all he’s trying to do at the present is make a hasty exit before Marinette starts asking him questions like—

“— What are you still doing patrolling anyways? I heard you quit the team?”

Like that.

He flashed what he hoped was a winning smile her way, “and leave the streets of Paris vulnerable and unguarded?! What kind of hero would that make me?”

Marinette continued to look unimpressed.

“You’ve been MIA for months, you really expect me to believe you’ve been watching over the city this whole time?”

“Just because you haven’t seen me doesn’t mean I’m not there,” Chat defends, affronted. “Hello, I’m a cat superhero? I’m supposed to be sneaky.”

“Whatever you say.”

Marinette snorts, opening her hall closet, removing her long black trench coat to hang it up and Chat feels as painfully winded as he did after falling through her skylight all over again at the second look that night of her in that dress.

She had her back to him and his eyes were on her exposed skin, tracing the small constellation of freckles across her shoulder-blades like he was committing them to memory. He’d always thought of her as cute when they were teenagers, but now that they were both grown he was struck with an all new paralyzing realization that left him hot and shaky all over.

Marinette was beautiful.

“That’s quite the dress,” he purrs flirtatiously when she turns back to face him, making him as weak in the knees as the view from behind had done, “were you out with any one special tonight Princess?”

Marinette freezes him with a no nonsense glare, “I should think that’s none of your business, Chat.”

His heart soars for a second, selfishly assuming she may have dressed up for him, for Adrien, but then he remembers Luka at the bar and the tender way in which the man had been gazing upon Marinette and he backtracks, holding up his hands in surrender.

“Okay, okay that was invasive of me, I apologize. But may I just say that you look truly beautiful, and I hope whomever you were with tonight told you as much.” he winks,

“and I was stopping by to see if you were home because I needed to speak to you, not because I wanted to destroy your plants and break your table, I swear.”

“What did you need to talk to me about?”Marinette’s stern glare disappears instantaneously (along with it the brief but delicious flush of her cheeks when Chat had called her beautiful), a serious concern now glinting in her gaze.

“Does this have anything to do with Ladybug?”

At the name of his estranged partner Chat recoils, shaking his head almost violently.

“No, she doesn’t even know I’m here, or that I’m still patrolling and I’d like to keep it that way, if you don’t mind.” He pleads.

Marinette looks deeply saddened, her blue eyes nearly teary when they lock with his own.

“Why?” She all but whispers, “do you not trust her anymore?”

“What?!” Chat shakes his head.

“It’s nothing like that at all. I’ve got this mission, something I need to take care of that doesn’t concern her, but I know Ladybug better than I know myself, and if I tell her everything she’ll want to help me and I can’t drag her into this. I trust her implicitly, but I don’t want her involved, and I can’t risk it.” He explains.

Marinette’s teary gaze is on her shoes now and her shoulders are slumped. The poor girl looks exhausted and Chat feels the bags under eyes as deeply as he feels his own.

“Let me tidy up and then I’ll be out of your hair.” He tells her quietly, “and again, I’m so sorry about your plants.”

“Forget the plants,”

Marinette rolls her eyes and makes her way to the kitchen, gesturing for Chat to follow her which he does almost mindlessly, the commanding behaviour of hers impossible to resist, something about it oddly frustrating in how it’s familiar,

“you said you needed to talk to me about something. So talk to me.”

She’s rummaging around in her fridge, pulling out eggs and milk, half bent over and Chat wants to tell her to change into something more comfortable for her own sake, and also for his own well being because the way that her dress hugs every curve of her lithe, compact figure is nearly causing him physical pain.

“I have to ask you a question I’m not entirely sure how to phrase.” Chat explains shiftily, “you’ve always been honest and incredibly helpful towards Ladybug and I in the past as it was. That is if you still feel like you can trust and be honest with me, I know it’s been a while, and I’m here out of the blue like this but...”

He trails off and shrugs, leaning against the counter with a defeated expression he’s struggling to mask.

Marinette straightens up, shutting the fridge firmly.

“I’ve had no reason to lie to you before Chat, I’m not about to start now.” she says to him, setting an array of ingredients across her countertop as she speaks, “so tell me whatever is that’s clearly bothering you, and I’ll see if I can help.”

“What are you doing?” He asks her.

“Stress baking. It’s how I cope with anxiety, I inherited it from my papa. Now drop the pointless questions and get to the point. Tell me what’s going on with you.”

Her tone rings with leadership, leaves no room for argument, so Chat finally cedes.

“As you know the Peacock Miraculous has been missing for almost a year,”

he doesn’t know how to ask her if she has it or any others without sounding accusatory and he’s trying to think on his feet with no luck whatsoever,

“I was wondering if you—if you or maybe that friend of yours that runs the Ladyblog have heard anything about it’s whereabouts?” He finishes lamely. He can hear Plagg snort in his head and he resists the urge to roll his eyes.

Fortunately Marinette just looks sympathetic rather than suspicious, “no I haven’t, but I’m assuming it’s pretty dire if you’re going out of your way to personally ask people if they’ve seen it.”

Chat shrugs again, “I’m more concerned with someone finding it and not truly understanding the dangers it possesses. I don’t know if you’re aware but that particular Miraculous is badly damaged and causes its wearer extreme duress. I just don’t want it in anyone else to find it because with a Miraculous like that one, any set of hands are the wrong hands for it to be in.”

Marinette nods clearly in agreement with Chat,

“Ladybug put out a bulletin warning people not to be stupid with the thing when it first went missing and report it to the Ladyblog if anyone had any idea of its whereabouts so she could go and collect it. But nobody really seems to care much about it, and even less people would be interested in wielding a Miraculous if its broken, so I don’t think anyone besides you and Ladybug are still looking for it.”

Chat chews on his lip thoughtfully, “perhaps, but I still feel like I’m going to sleep more soundly when I find it.”

“You and me both.” Marinette shakes her head, “but the final battle was over the Seine, if it fell in with Mayura its hardly likely that could ever be found, Chat. Who knows where the current could have even swept it to.”

Chat eyes the countertop of ingredients, a half-cocked plan forming in his head while Plagg whines in his inner ear about how much he hates powering up.

“I’ve got a rough idea as to where to start my search over again, but I think I’m going to need your help. And to maybe borrow your kitchen.”

🐞

Charenton was a facility that had been shut down since the 18th century along with it’s archaic practises; leeches, electroshock therapy, forced emetic purging, tepid bathing and hypnosis to name a few.

It had become something of an urban legend, fodder for scary stories and old timey crime novels, something meant to spook but never truly convince people such a horrendous place could still have it’s doors open and be operating under the guise of a boarding home and correctional facility for wayward girls.

But Lila knew otherwise.

For ten long months she’d been calm, acted complacent, patiently biding her time, smart enough to go off the handle once or twice in the beginning before becoming the picture perfect patient; subdued and obedient, or so she let on. She maintained this guise of innocence while indifferent Nuns brought her food she rationed, gave her pills she didn't actuallytake, and practically ignored her after she stopped giving them any more trouble.

Lila usually withered under a lack of attention, the spotlight was her domain, her right. The disinterested staff that accompanied her everywhere she went would have truly rubbed her the wrong way if she wasn’t depending on them to pay very little attention to her right from the beginning.

Today, Sister Cathrine (a gnarled elderly woman with a lazy right eye) was walking her through the gardens, patting at her apron pocket for her cigarettes.

She usually took her break a handful of feet away from the patients but everyone knew to stay put and wait when she indulged in a smoke. Lila had heard the whispers; that the old crabby woman wasn’t above burning you with a lit cigarette if you irked her enough or misbehaved. She’d seen the burn scars on some of the older patients’ arms with her own eyes, but Lila wasn’t a fool like they were.

In fact she knew she was the only person in the whole establishment of sound body and mind and it was an advantage she took with both hands. She picked at the itchy sleeve of her wool sweater and sat on the bench, watching Sister Catherine fumble with her book of matches, her old arthritic fingers barely capable of striking a single one.

“May I help you, Sister?”

Lila keeps her eyes on her feet, looking the picture of placid innocence with her hands primly folded in her lap.

She knows Sister Catherine gives her a sharp look, and Lila smiles faintly.

“You know you’re not to touch anything akin to a weapon, and that includes these,” she shakes the book of matches and fumbles to light her smoke again.

Lila titters, “one tiny match can’t possibly cause any real harm, can it Sister? I can only offer you my assistance. It’s our holy duty to help those in need, as our Heavenly Father instructs us to do.”

She bows her head, clasping her hands for affect.

Sister Catherine is one of the smarter old broads in the place, but even still, she —like all the other nurses— was a religious old coot and Lila was cunning enough to know if you acted like God had saved you when you were put in an establishment such as this one, they’d believe any single thing that fell from your mouth as long as it meant they’d succeeded in converting you, one more tally next to their name in the bid to enter Heaven. What a load of nonsense.

She bites her wildly triumphant grin back when Sister Catherine handed the book of matches to her.

“I have my eye on you.” She tells Lila curtly.

The young woman bites back a retort as to which one the Sister would like to point on her in favour of striking a match against the book with enough force to knock the container out of her fingers, lighting the match anyways but spilling the others across the cobblestones.

“I’m so clumsy I apologize,”

Lila lights the old woman’s smoke before shaking the match out and falling to her knees to pick up the matches and stuff them back into the book.

She holds her hands and sleeves out for inspection, and when the woman is satisfied Lila hasn’t stolen any of the matches she’d scattered, the Nun nods gruffly, pulling back on her cigarette in vigour, creating an instantaneous column of ash on the end of it.

“I will tell Doctor Smythe about how much your situation has improved Lila, I think we’ve finally reached the right dosage of medication and treatment for you, as your manner and your faith has greatly improved since you first came to us.”

Lila allowed her lips to quirk in a tiny self satisfied smirk before thanking the Sister in a sweet voice, stating she truly did feel like a different person since she’d begun her treatment.

“The only problem with feeling more like myself again is that I’m also beginning to truly feel homesick.” She sighs wistfully. “I’m looking forward to the opportunity to return home and make amends to all my friends and my mother, and especially to Ladybug.”

“Soon enough child,” Catherine pats her shoulder but not very gently as the woman doesn't have the capacity for soft touch, “you’ll be home soon enough.”

_Why yes_, Lila thinks wickedly, _I most certainly will_.

🐞

Despite the unexpected but not unwelcome visitor the night previous, Marinette was still able to get a good nights rest and make it to Alya and Nino’s apartment for eight in the morning.

Chat had stayed for an hour, cleaning the mess he’d made and happily sampling her cheesecake filled cupcakes as he swept up dirt and shards of terracotta. By the time he’d bade her goodnight, her tray of cupcakes was reduced to crumbs and her plants were sorted between what could be repotted and what had to go, and she slept soundly for the first time in months.

She’d left the house that morning with a spring in her step, walking with purpose, her head held high and a smile overtaking her features as she replayed the night’s events in her head. She had a busy day, still had her class to get to that afternoon, and lunch with Luka as well if they hopefully didn’t overbook themselves with prior obligations, but this morning was all about her two friends and she was more than happy to be helping them.

She couldn’t quite place the source for her good mood, she knew some of it had to do with the fact she had finally seen Chat again, but a part of her had been hoping their first initial reunion would be when she was Ladybug, as they had so much to talk about, things that couldn’t come up organically when she was speaking to him as Marinette.

Of course she already knew how to make the power-ups that enabled kwamis to take on different elemental transformations but she couldn’t exactly tell him that, so she had to wait until that evening, when he planned on stopping by again with the Grimoire he said he’d procured from the Papillon’s lair after the battle.

A part of her had wanted to admonish him for ransacking the Agreste household after such a terrible tragedy, but a part of her had a feeling Adrien wouldn’t have cared very much; he seemed to want to distance himself from all things Miraculous related after his father had been exposed and she had to honestly say she couldn’t blame him.

Sure she had been initially surprised at how cold he’d been, ready to cut his father off. Family was something that she always thought of as important. Blood ties couldn’t and shouldn’t be cut. But she’d been thinking with the brain of someone who had an idyllic family life, and Adrien had not had that same privilege. She was thoughtless not to recognize that and felt guilty in regards to their last conversation when she was Ladybug, she longed to find a way to apologize for it.

The man in question was waiting outside Alya and Nino’s building when she rounded the corner and waved happily in greeting when he caught sight of her.

“I just texted Nino that I’m here. The buzzer is broken apparently.” He says when she’s within earshot.

“He says that every time Ayla’s still asleep after a night of partying and he doesn’t want anyone to prematurely wake her.” Marinette says sagely, Adrien looks amused.

“If we were decent friends, we’d give them some more time to sleep in and go grab some breakfast together to pass the time.” He says with a surreptitious look in his eye.

Marinette ponders on it, certain Alya would be grateful for the extra twenty minutes and even more so for the chocolate croissants Marinette would be so inclined to bring back for her and nods.

“My parents don’t live too far from here, did you want to stop in? I’ll have to snag croissants for Alya and Nino if we’re getting breakfast, otherwise I won’t hear the end of it.”

Adrien lights up, nodding a tad eagerly at the suggestion, “your parents have the best patisserie in Paris, Marinette.” He tells her warmly, offering his arm to her, “shall we?”

She curls her fingers around the bicep offered to her, and they fall in step easily, both enjoying the morning in silence at first. The sky is still under a thick blanket of grey and the city itself is eerily foggy, some streetlights and shop lights still on due to how dark the lack of sunlight made everything, but it wasn’t raining for once and that was enough to give the city the bustle and life to make the day itself seem promising.

“So did you give any thought to our conversation last night?” He breaks the silence, looking over at her hopefully. Marinette chews her lip, catching his eye and smiling weakly at him.

“I want to say yes, I really do. I have so many added responsibilities and obligations to consider, but this is an amazing opportunity Adrien. I just don’t want to take on too much and not be able to give you what you need from me.” She answers him a tad nervously.

“I’m not worried about that.” Adrien rests his hand over Marinette’s where it’s laying on his opposite upper arm. The weight of his hand is heavy and warm, “I know you. And because of our friendship I’m not going to be upset with you if you want to say no. But I really think you can do it, I wouldn’t have offered you the job if I didn’t believe in you.”

She huffs a weak laughs at him, still feeling doubtful, and Adrien hums in thought.

“How does this sound; we give it a trial run, you come work for the company for about, three months and if it’s too much or it doesn’t feel like the right fit to you, you don’t have to stay on with the company if you don’t want to, and I will personally set you up with whatever placement you would prefer that offers less of the responsibilities you’ll have working for me. I’ve got a lot of ins with other fashion labels and I would be more than happy to use that to your advantage.”

Adrien smiles at her encouragingly as he makes the offer, “I’m just in a bind in regards to Fashion Week and I could really use your help.” He adds with a nervous laugh, “no pressure.”

At this point what he’s offering is more than reasonable and Marinette knows it, so she gives up, and nods in defeat. “Okay, I’ll do it.” She says and he looks so relieved, she actually feels his hand over hers shake a little.

“Oh thank you.” He breathes, “You’re a saint Marinette.”

“I wouldn’t go that far,” she laughs, “and you made me an offer I couldn’t refuse after all.”

They’re in front of her parents’ Patisserie now and Adrien gently untangles their arms to open the door for her, smiling softly as he does, and this one is meeting his eyes and it’s so heartening to see that look, a glance at real happiness glowing on his face.

“Seriously though, thank you so much.” He enthuses again to her, and she smiles back, squeezing his arm gently.

“You’re welcome,” she says to him as they file into the warm space, the smell of fresh pastries wafting into her nose, “and thank you. This is a huge opportunity and I’d be crazy not to take it.”

Her father glances around the corner, roused by the sound of the bell and lights up at the sight of her, striding around from behind the counter to scoop her into a crushing hug that lifts her off her feet the second he sees her.

“Oof!” She laughs breathlessly, “good morning to you too, Papa.”

“Your mother and I were only just saying this morning how you moved half an hour away but it feels more like you’re in the next country over!”Tom sighs long sufferingly as he holds her a minute longer before gently setting her back down, “we’ve really been missing you around here sweetheart.”

“I’ve missed you both too, I’m sorry I’ve been so busy.” Marinette flushes apologetically.

Tom waves off her apologies, eyes lighting up with recognition at the sight of her company, who’d been watching the exchange between father and daughter with a strange, wistful expression in his eyes.

“Adrien, good to see you son!” Tom shakes his hand, “it’s been a while.”

“It’s good to see you too Monsieur Dupain.”

The ghost of whatever Adrien was feeling has left his eyes, but his smile is that artificial one he wears for everyone around him, despite the fact his words are ringing with sincerity as he greets Marinette’s father.

Tom laughs heartily, clapping Adrien on the shoulder, “call me Tom. What can I get for the two of you this morning? I’m sure you didn’t just stop by for my sparkling company.” He jokes.

Adrien chuckles in response, “We’re here for your eclairs and your sparkling company.” He quips, joking back just as easily.

Tom steals a sneaky look between Adrien and his daughter, the latter shaking her head ever so slightly in hopes of discouraging him from doing something embarrassing like bringing up the long suffering one sided crush she’d had on Adrien as a teen. Fortunately he gets the hint and slips behind the counter, still making easy conversation with Adrien as he goes.

“How are your studies going?” He asks the blonde cheerfully, and as Adrien gives the same response he gave Luka last night, her father’s forehead creases in concern.

“Well you’re a damn smart kid, and its entirely up to you what you want to do with your life, don’t let anyone else tell you otherwise.” He says, filling a to go box with a large assortment of fresh baked treats. “I think it’s great you’re taking over the reigns of the company and trying to turn it around, but if it isn’t your passion, don’t force it.” He advises.

“Papa...” Marinette starts in wearily, but stop in surprise as Adrien just shakes his head at her and smiles at Tom in a timid kind of way.

“You know, you’re the first person to tell me that.” He says to her father, “and I really appreciate you saying it.”

“I mean it,” Tom nods decisively, “Sabine and I both think the world of you, you’ve always been a good friend to our girl here, and you’re an upstanding, respectable young man. You should be proud of yourself, not everyone is as tough enough to go through what you have and still be kind at heart.” He says gently.

Adrien’s gaze goes a touch glossy, excusing himself to check his phone messages abruptly. Marinette suspects it has more to do with the fact he needs to turn around and scrub his jacket sleeve across his eyes, and she shoots her father a stern look, appreciating his overt thoughtfulness towards her friend but hoping he understands its maybe a bit too much at the moment.

Tom looks on guiltily, and throws a few extra eclairs into the to go box.

Clearing his throat and turning around, Adrien makes to inquire as to what he owes for the box of goodies but Tom waves him off, telling Marinette to load up on any tea or coffee with the pastries, as it’s still blusteringly cold outside and the wind chill is making it even worse.

Marinette snags a tray and helps herself to the new hazelnut roast her mother has been raving about, grabbing a few to go cups for Nino and Alya as well as Adrien. He and Tom are now making idle prattle about the miserable weather this past month has seen, and Marinette is about to turn and ask Adrien what he takes in his coffee when her mother bursts into the shop from the upstairs annex of the house, her face drawn in concern and her eyes wide, widening even more so when she spots Marinette.

“Hi darling,” Sabine pulls her close and kisses both her cheeks, Marinette notices that she’s trembling and seems very distracted.

“Mama, what’s wrong?” She asks gently, setting the tray of coffees down to grip Sabine by the shoulders and look her in the eye.

“The news this morning, it’s the most horrific story, I was actually about to call you.” Sabine shakes her head, now garnering the audience of her husband and Adrien as well. “Oh hello dear,” She adds when she spots Adrien, “how are you?”

“Very well thank you,” Adrien says, eyeing Sabine with a careful scrutiny, “is everything alright?”

Sabine frowns like she almost is thinking better than answering but gives up with a sigh of reluctance and then motions to the group to follow her into the house and they do so, filling wordlessly in after one another their curiosity quelled as she gestures to the news story still unfolding on the tv screen in their living room,

“At the present no more can be said on what caused the explosion that lead to several others, but the Charenton Home for Wayward Girls has been ablaze ever since 3:13 am.”

Nadia Chamack’s face was grave as she relayed the news, a horrific image of the building itself in the corner of the screen showed just how little of the structure was still standing, the rest in pieces or up in flame while firefighters were working futilely to put out the massive blaze.

“The residents and orderlies dwelling on the first floor of the building have been safely evacuated, it has been reported that an undetermined number are missing and presumed dead. This home was quite famous for its allegedly barbarian practises that were believed to have been outlawed before the facility was forced to close its doors in 1862. It garnered attention agin however in the late seventies when a team of doctors and psychiatric students had begun to use it as a base for new practises of experimental but successful drug therapy.”

Nadia pauses, her expression remaining stoic as she relays the news, but her eyes give sense to the panic she is feeling as deeply as the rest of Paris at that moment.

“The faculty became more recently famous for the admission of a patient by the name of Lila Rossi, a deeply troubled girl that had been under the influence of the Papillon during his reign of terror over Paris for the last nine years. Rossi had been a young teenager when she was first initially recruited and then brainwashed into joining the Papillon’s cause.”

At this Marinette’s shock and concern gives way to irritation and she snorts derisively.

“That’s a lie,” she tells her mother in an aside, “Lila didn’t require any convincing at all.”

Sabine frowns at Marinette like she’s disappointed, and shakes her head at her daughter solemnly. Meanwhile her father is mute, his eyes wide with worry, but his gaze is on her friend, not the television. Adrien hasn’t spoken, he’s too caught up in horror at the sight of the facility in smoke and flame to say anything at all, his face pale and drawn as he takes in what’s unfolding on the screen.

“—she has also been named among the patients missing and presumed dead. There is no more information we can provide at this time, but a relief fund has been set up on the facility’s webpage or you can donate by texting “RELIEF” to 999—”

Marinette picks up the remote and turns the tv off.

The room is silent, grave for a moment and then Tom shuffles awkwardly, looking between Marinette’s blank face, and Adrien’s pale, shocked one and ushers them into the kitchen with Sabine in tow.

“Lets get a proper breakfast into you both.” He’s saying, “our pastries are the best in Paris, it’s true, but you need a good hearty breakfast if you’re helping pack up rooms and disassemble furniture today.”

Marinette hadn’t told her father about her plans that morning, so she assumes that’s what he and Adrien were talking about before Sabine had raced downstairs. Her mind is still blank she sits at the breakfast bar beside Adrien, her hands shaking and her stomach in knots.

“Do you think she did it.”

Adrien doesn’t pose it like a question, the words falling flat onto the countertop and Tom freezes halfway into the fridge, Sabine nearly dropping the teapot she was taking off the shelf above the sink.

“I mean, she had to be forced into the facility in the first place, maybe this was her revenge for it.” He continues in the same monotone flat voice.

Marinette had felt horrible for wondering that exact thing, but was quelled by the knowledge she wasn’t alone in her thinking.

“I don’t know about that.” Sabine says gently, clearly adamant in her belief that Lila was a victim like all the others, “that building was very old and very unstable, it ought to have been torn down years ago, most of the older mental facilities in Europe were poorly constructed and nearly every single one has had a fire at some point in history. Perhaps none were ever quite to this magnitude, but it doesn’t mean it couldn’t have happened accidentally.”

Adrien doesn’t look convinced. “She was working for my father, she was always an excellent manipulator and a liar, we don’t know what she was capable of.” He stands, pushing himself away from the counter, “I have to go, but thank you for your hospitality, and for the offer of breakfast, but I have to regretfully decline.”

He turns on his heel sharply and leaves the room in a handful of even strides, Marinette winces at her parents and bids them a hasty farewell of her own, racing down the stairs after her friend. She thankfully remembers to snag the box and tray as she’s going, feeling like she needs to be caffeinated for the conversation on the walk back to Alya and Nino’s but when she stumbles outside, Adrien is nowhere to be found.

She whirls around the sidewalk, eyes darting back and forth, then rummages in her purse for her phone. It goes straight to voicemail when she calls Adrien, and her heart falls to her feet as she makes her way to Nino and Alya’s place alone, her good mood from earlier a distant memory now.

🐞

Perched on his baton, Chat surveys the blazing facility from a safe distance, ears pricked forwards to catch snippets of conversations between the first response officers below him.

From what he’s gathered the fire started late in the previous evening, then led to several explosions and many of the patients and orderlies had been roasted alive in their beds. Not a single person had made it out unscathed and the hospitals in the surrounding county were overflowing with burn victims, the morgues also depressingly overcrowded. Due to the fact many of the victims that had initially perished in the fire had been burnt beyond dental records most of the people on site had assumed Lila was dead. There had been a horribly burned body found in the room she was located in, but Chat still had his reservations. He wouldn’t put this whole mess past her and he was astounded to know that there were still people out there stupid enough to underestimate her after all this time.

He notices a grizzled old Nun perched in the back of an ambulance vehicle, trying to push the oxygen mask an EMT is attempting to place on her, snapping something about just wanting a damned cigarette and to be left well enough alone.

Chat lowers himself down slowly, retracting his baton and leaning behind a tree, watching the man eventually give up, leaving to stalk over to his co-workers and continue treating the residents that aren’t trying to deflect their help, muttering crassly to one of the other EMTs that the ‘nasty old woman was bound to croak any day anyways, a little smoke inhalation wasn’t going to make a damn difference’.

Appalled at the man’s unprofessional behaviour, Chat shakes his head, slipping along the length of ambulances and police cars, slipping in and out of one to nab the open pack of Gauloises he spies on the dashboard, before dropping beside the old woman wrapped in a silver emergency blanket. The material crinkles as she turns to face him, and Chat stifles the shout of alarm that almost escapes him at the sight of her face.

Her skin is blistered and raw all over and that’s only in the places where the skin is still hanging on, chunks of flesh have burned away down her cheekbones and her chin, leaving a striking resemblance to a melted down candle. The charred skin is blackened and raw, purple in places where her blood is still sluggishly oozing its way out. One of her eyes is milky white, looking in the opposite direction, but her undamaged one is focused sharply on him, the beetle dark glare missing nothing.

“Chat Noir.”

She sounds horrible, wheezing and raspy, while her alert black eye zeros in on the cigarettes in his hand.

“Are those for me?” She inquires, in a voice like figurative nails on a blackboard. He nods wordlessly, voice still lost at the sight of what is left of her face, handing the pack to her and looking around uselessly for something to light her smoke with.

“See if there’s some burning wreckage you can use for a light, boy.”

The Nun actually has it in her to laugh, giving him a view of her gums and the burnt holes in her cheeks exposing more of her jaw than is meant to be visible normally. “It’s got to be good for something.”

He does as he’s told, using a still smouldering hunk of a window frame to light her smoke before tossing it into the damp grass, and turning to face the woman, trying to keep his gaze focused on her good eye, the only mostly undamaged part of her face.

“Sister,” He hesitates.

“Cathrine.” She supplies with a hacking cough.

“Sister Catherine, can you tell me what happened?” He asks her gently, gesturing to the wreckage behind them.

“We let a demon roam these halls is what happened.” She wheezes gravely, coughing each time she takes a drag of her cigarette but sucking back on it with gusto regardless.

He tries not to noice the smoke billowing out of patches on her face unnaturally.

“The Rossi child was crafty, and cunning. She’d been planning this since day one and many of us, —myself included— had too much faith to think she hadn’t been saved. We had hoped and believed she finally accepted our Heavenly Father into her heart, had repented for her crimes.”

Chat resists the urge to roll his eyes. _Catholics_.

“Well, clearly she hadn’t accepted or repented anything so where is she now?” He presses.

“She paid for her sins my child. She perished in the fire of her own making.” Sister Cathrine wheezes, “and may God have mercy on her soul.”

Chat shakes his head firmly, “I have reason to believe she faked her death.”

“And what reason is that?” Sister Cathrine snorts; a very ugly sound. “That wretched girl ensured that not a single person made it out of here unscathed. Fewer still left here alive.”

”She couldn’t work with the Papillon for nine years without picking up a trick or two.” Chat reminds the woman sagely, “if there’s a chance she’s alive I’m worried what that will mean. She is dangerous.”

“Yes, I think I gathered as much.” Sister Cathrine says with rough ire, “but it hardly matters to me or to anyone else who suffered at her hands today. We already faced her wrath, if by some unlikely chance she were still alive what more could she possibly do to us?”

Chat stands, expanding his baton and casting a warning look back at the charred remnants of a surprisingly formidable old bird.

“I hope for your sake you never find out, Sister.” He says to her.

Then he takes his leave before he’s spotted, keeping his eyes peeled as he makes his way out of the forest lining the grounds, but doesn’t see hide or hair of who he's watching out for.

It would put such a tidy little bow on things, if Lila was dead and gone because that meant the imminent threat was dead and gone, the danger was really over. Perhaps it was the sheer convenience of that possibility that made it impossible for him to believe it was true. Facts were facts, and a horribly burnt up body had been found in Lila’s room, she was on the list of victims reported as presumed dead, and he spent the rest of the morning and afternoon doing an exhaustive sweep of the little townships and the countryside all in a fifty mile radius of the asylum posing as a home for troubled women, and found nothing.

_Come on kid, take the win and be done with it. It’s over._ Plagg tells him firmly.

It was still too easy, and he wasn’t used to easy. But he gave up by evening and de-transformed a block from home, his head pounding and his heart still in his throat, the feeling of disquieting fear still walking its icy fingertips up his spine like it had been since he saw the facility on fire on the tv in the Dupain-Chang’s living room that morning.

He let himself into the manor wordlessly, checking his phone quickly, before shutting it off, not fully ready to explain to his friends just why he’d had to bail on them. He made his way inside and made a beeline for the dry bar in the dining room, pouring a generous amount of scotch into a tumbler and snagging the bottle to take with him to his room for good measure.

On his way up the stairs he passes his father’s old study, —a room he kept the door to shut and locked permanently until he had the time to schedule a renovation team to tear the place apart— and froze at the sight of the door hanging ajar.

“Hello?”

He called out nervously, wondering if the Gorilla or one of the household staff had let themselves in for some unfathomable reason, “who’s in there?”

There was no response, but that icy feeling was back.

He took a heartening gulp of his drink, hoping the burn of it would melt the block of ice in his gut as he walked into the study, brandishing the bottle of scotch in his other hand upside down like a weapon. The study was empty, illuminated by cracks of moonlight that had found its way through the cloud cover overtaking the city but the eerie silence was justified; he was alone.

While no one currently was inside with him, it was clear someone had been in space at some point that day. The desk was overturned and broken, papers and old designs littered the floor. Tchotchkes and knickknacks his father had acquired from his world travels were in smithereens, ground into a fine powder like they’d been deliberately broken. In fact the whole room had the air that indicated whomever had been in the room wasn’t just looking for something in particular; they wanted to make it very clear that they had been here.

He knew where his mind was immediately going, but he tamped it down and made his way to the enormous painting of his mother, wincing at the way it hung tattered and defaced, her eyes scratched out and the fabric of the painting in ribbons, the safe behind it exposed and wide open.

The scotch glass slipped out of Adrien’s fingers and shattered into pieces, not that it made a difference, what with all the other broken glass and porcelain littering the floor and probably embedded in Adrien’s bare feet by now, but he couldn’t care less at the present moment. All his pain and horror were reserved for the sight before him, his eyes and mouth wide with horror at open safe.

The Grimoire was gone.

🐞

Marinette sat patiently outside on her terrace, bundled in her favourite fleece hoodie and thick Afghan from her couch, her eyes glued to the skyline of the city, a mug of tea clutched in one hand.Chat hadn’t said exactly when he was coming but after the day she’d experienced she needed the fresh air to clear her head, so she didn’t mind waiting for a while.

After having no luck locating Adrien that morning, she’d made her way to Nino and Alya’s by herself and pressed the absolute shit out of the buzzer until Nino let her in. Fortunately, he’d been up watching the news as well, and buzzed her up wordlessly without a single complaint for Alya’s rest.

She let herself into the apartment, put the to go box and tray of coffees in the kitchen, then flopped beside Alya who was crunched in a ball on the couch, wrapped in a blanket with a horror-struck expression on her face.

Nino made a beeline for the coffees, adding the usual amounts of cream and sugar everyone took in theirs before he distributed them around the room. When he’d eyed the forth cup without comment, Marinette felt like she had to explain.

“Adrien was so upset he bailed and went home. I guess he feels kind of responsible because she was in cahoots with his dad.” Marinette defended Adrien’s absence feebly, her friends hardly minding due to the mood that had settled on the place from the minute Nino had clicked on the tv.

“This is the worst kind of news to get while hungover.” Alya complained loudly, pinching the bridge of her nose. “I mean, we sent her there, Chloé and I. And now she’s dead. I kinda feel like its my fault and I do not like that feeling.”

“It’s not your fault.” Marinette assured her gently. “My mom says a lot of old buildings that served as mental facilities in the 18th and 19th centuries were not well constructed, and many of them were not equipped to be fire safe. This was a horrific accident and no one could have predicted it.”

“I just wanted the psychopath to get her head straightened out, not wind up as— as Korean barbecue.” Alya scowled into her coffee, her eyes bleak and bloodshot.

“Babe... she was Italian.” Nino hung his head, looking as equally hungover and drained as his girlfriend did.

“You both need to stop talking until you feel a little more human.” Marinette advised them, “where’s the ibuprofen?”

“Bathroom.” Nino had muttered rubbing his hands over his face and sighing as he took Marinette’s vacated seat on the couch. The second he did, however the buzzer sounded again and he’d risen with a groan of defeat.

“What.” He croaked when he pressed the call button for outside.

“_It’s Chloé_.” Her voice crackled with the static of the call box, “_let me in, Lahiffe!_”

Nino groaned again, but did as he was instructed.

The woman must have taken the stairs two at a time because by the time Marinette located the extra strength ibuprofen, filled two water glasses and made her way back into the half packed up living room juggling the lot, Chloé was standing in the foyer, inquiring about the forth cup of coffee in the tray.

“Help yourself, the creamers are in the fridge.” Marinette said as she pushed the water and pills on her two lazy friends becoming one with the couch.

“Oh Mari you're here too! Good.”

Chloé had strode across the room to give Marinette a quick hug and peck on the cheek before heading back into the kitchen to rummage through the fridge for the aforementioned creamers.

“I’m sure you saw the news? Horrifying, utterly horrifying.” She stepped back into the living room, stirring her coffee with vigour, “but naturally we can’t blame ourselves.” She’d added decisively.

“How can we not?” Alya croaked from the couch, holding her water in one hand and her coffee in the other while she took alternating sips of each. “We sent her there.”

“Well for starters, we didn’t set the place on fire.” Chloé pointed out mildly. “But also I firmly that believe bad things will happen to bad people. It’s called karmic justice, my darling Kagami taught me about that.”

“Jesus Chloé.” Nino shook his head and then looked like he very much regretted doing so, “You can’t say shit like that, its not right.”

“Just because it isn’t nice to say, doesn't make it any less true.” The platinum blonde had sniffed at her three friends in haughty indifference. “Besides, daddy’s sources says she’s the one who started the fire in the first place which means this isn’t our fault, it’s quite literally hers.”

Marinette blanched. “Lila started the fire? Why?” She had been severely doubtful of this new piece of information from the get go, but she hated the fact there was a part in the back of her mind that truly believed this was all that wretched girl’s doing.

Chloé shrugged, “Why do crazy people do anything? Something wasn’t right up there and now that chariot has come forth to take her home. To hell obviously.”

“_Chloé_.” The other three groaned in unison.

“What?” She had rolled her eyes;

“she is not a victim in this scenario, or in any other for that matter so stop beating yourselves up about it like I know you are and accept the facts. Lila is gone and she can’t hurt anybody anymore, and no one here is to blame for what happened. We could have sent her to the most gorgeous correctional facility that doubled as a day spa to live out her days and she still would’ve torched the place, because that’s how she’s wired. She had an opportunity to get better, to be better and she didn’t want to take it. That isn’t our fault.”

Harsh as her words were, Chloé had a point, sort of.

Marinette muses over the events of her day, sighing as she sips her tea on the terrace and stares blankly at the weak rays of moonlight shining through patches in the clouds.

So why did she still feel so bad?

She’d been distracted all through her first class, missed half the lesson due to how much her mind was wandering and ended up rescheduling her lunch date with Luka, in no mood to pretend like everything was fine and of course he’d been completely understanding, telling her to call him later if she felt like talking about it.

Her head felt messy and her eyes were heavy all day, it felt weird how it wasn’t raining for once, how the wind died out by the afternoon, how the entire atmosphere of the city was stagnant, as if all of Paris was collectively holding its breath.

Marinette ended up with such a migraine she went home right away after school and tucked herself into her bed, planning on taking a quick hour nap and then calling her friends before the left for the first leg of the tour.

Instead she slept through her alarms, not stirring once until 9pm and after leaving Nino and Alya some good luck voicemails that felt half-assed and lazy even to her, she made tea, bundled herself up in a blanket and dragged herself outside in hopes the fresh air would wake her up some. The night air was chilly, nipping at her cheeks and stinging her nose, but her eyes were wide open and she was sitting up alert, waiting for the sound that signalled Chat’s inevitable arrival.

Here she was nearly three hours later, seriously contemplating going back to bed if he didn’t show soon.

Tiki perched on her knee in silence, only moving to dunk the cookie that had been given to her into Marinette’s tea every so often. The young woman was comforted by her kwami’s soothing presence. She hadn’t had much opportunity to comfort Marinette with her usual wise words that day, as her owner was very busy and constantly surrounded by people, but she’d pressed close to the inside of Marinette’s jacket, her antennae brushing a steady tickling rhythm on her collarbones that was meant to be reassuring.

“She may have worded it poorly, but Chloé was right you know.” Tikki says now, brushing her cookie crumbs off of Marinette’s knee. “There isn’t anything you can do for somebody who doesn’t want to get better and the only person you end up hurting feeling this bad over it is yourself.”

“I know that Tikki.” Marinette shakes her head, dipping her pinky into her tea to nag a stray crumb and flick it away, “its just such a waste.”

“I know. And you’re allowed to feel badly about it if you want to, but don’t dwell on it forever. You’re in enough pain as it is.” Her kwami flies up and touches her cheek gently. “I’m going inside in case Chat shows up soon, I don’t want him figuring us out just yet, and I’m sure you don’t want that either.”

She leaves without another word and Marinette leans back in her deck recliner with a heavy sigh, her eyelids slipping closed. She’s dangerously close to dozing off when she hears a rustle by her left side and the sound of a pair of boots thudding against the concrete flooring of the terrace.

She slits an eye open lazily at Chat Noir, noticing his usual playful smile isn’t on his lips, his eyes guarded, and his cat ears look like they’re drooping a little. “I figured you saw the news today.” Marinette sighs sitting up and opening both of her eyes now.

Chat nods in solemn silence and sits down by her feet.

“My friends and I...well just my friends actually— were the ones to convince Lila’s mother that Charenton was the best place for her.” Marinette begins nervously, fiddling with the hem of her blanket.

“You shouldn’t blame yourselves.” Chat says stonily. “I went to investigate the scene, and a terribly burned Sister told me Lila started the blaze. A lot of people were hurt and killed because of her and not because of anyone else.”

“You were there?” Marinette sits up, “why?”

“I had to see for myself what happened. She was an ally of the Papillon’s for a considerable amount of time. I wasn’t about to put it past her to have some tricks hidden up her sleeve.” Chat fidgets, “but by all accounts everyone seems to believe she’s dead.”

“Do you?” Marinette asks him, because it didn’t sound like he did.

“I’m not sure. The place where I stashed the Grimoire was a secret and well...” the superhero shifts where he’s sitting uncomfortably, looking Marinette square in the eye. “It’s missing. It went missing today. I’d would like to think that’s a coincidence.”

Chat looks deeply troubled, and it feels like strong invisible fingers have suddenly wound themselves around Marinette’s windpipe.

“It’s gone?” She croaks. “Where did you hide it?”

“Does that matter?” Chat huffs, “It’s not like I misplaced it, it was kept in a safe.” His hands are clenched in fists on his knees, his posture rigid like he’s ready for a fight.

Marinette reaches out and touches his arm gently, and his shoulders slump a little, his gaze locking back onto Marinette’s and his green eyes are brittle with contempt for himself.

“I don’t know what to do.” He finally says to her in defeat. “I’m trying to make things right as best as I can, but somehow everything is taking a turn for the worse, and it’s all my fault.”

“I think it’s time to tell Ladybug.” She advises him, “you two need to work on this together.”

“What if she hates me now? After I just abandoned her like that? It’s almost been a whole year, and we haven’t spoken in that time. For all she knows I’ve just disappeared.” Chat sounds distraught at the idea.

“She could never hate you.” Marinette vows to him fiercely, “you’re her partner, and nothing— not even a little time is going to change that. And if there’s anything I can do to help either one of you, let me know.”

Chat huffs out a heavy sigh, his eyes looking a bit teary, so Marinette sets her mug down on the tarmac, opening her blanket and draping it over him too. He hunches underneath, bearing an uncanny resemblance to a cat left out in the rain and it tears at her chest to see him like this. She holds her arms out to him.

“Chat, come here.”

She speaks gently, and he collapses into her outstretched arms, winding his own around her tightly, burying his face in her shoulder, his breath coming out in a ragged kind of way that indicated he was trying to disguise his crying and failing to do so. She politely ignored the muffled sobs out of respect to him but squeezed the shaking man tighter, trying to convey as much comfort as she could into the embrace.

“I feel like I’ve failed.” He admits, voice scratchy and woebegone.

“You didn’t, you’re just trying to take on way too much by yourself and that can be so hard. It’s okay to need help sometimes Chat.” She soothes. “It’s okay to need people.”

“Thank you Marinette.” He breathes to her with another stifled sob, “you’re a saint.”

“I don’t know about that.” She laughs, “but I’m always here if you want to talk. And I’m happy to have at least helped someone today.”

Chat pulls back observes her quizzically, and she sighs before confessing:

“A dear friend of mine was very upset about the news this morning. I think he blames himself a little, even though he shouldn’t. I wanted to comfort him, but he took off before we could talk about it, and he hasn’t answered any of my calls or texts tonight. I’m really worried about him.”

“Don’t be worried.” Chat’s gaze softens and he cups Marinette’s chin gently, “ it sounds like he just needs a little time, Princess.”

“Maybe,” Marinette agrees, “but I know that’s not all he needs. He needs to talk to someone about how he’s feeling and I wish he could talk to me. I care so much, but I don’t know what to do or what to say to help him see that he isn’t alone. That he has a support system of people that think the world of him.”

“I’m sure he knows.” Chat takes Marinette’s hands in his own and cradles them, “I don’t think any of your friends are in the dark as to how much you love and care about them. They’re very lucky to have you.”

“Well you have me too.” Marinette tells him, “you know that right?”

Chat beams at her, eyes still a tad watery. “I do now.”

“Do you want to come inside?” Marinette offers gently, “it’s freezing out here, and I could use another cup of tea.”

Chat smiles softly, his eyes roving over her face in earnest as he accepts, saying he’s not quite used to the damp chill this September and October has brought upon them, and Marinette is inclined to agree.

That being said it’s weird how much the things that don’t seem natural have become that way in the last handful of months.

Like how right it feels to have Chat sitting in her living room with a mug of chamomile between his hands, when this had never been an occurrence in Marinette’s home up until today, or how he talks to her with an easy cadence, like he’s spent all his past evenings in her living room filling her in with the ongoings of his daily excursions.

Sure, it makes sense that it’s easy falling into rhythm with someone who used to be your partner-in-fighting-crime for at least a decade, but Chat didn’t know she was Ladybug.

The fact that he was this comfortable, this at ease with her as just regular Marinette, trusted her as openly as he seemed to with Ladybug really meant a lot to her and she was struck by how much it moved her. She was overcome with the desire to finally tell him the truth, but she didn’t know how, didn’t know if it would make things worse or better at this point.

Sure, it made the world of difference to know Papillon was in prison and couldn’t hurt anyone else ever again as no lawyer would be foolish enough to represent him, no streaming website was as interested in making a mini series about his backstory as they were in the one Adrien resolutely refused to give them.

Gabriel Agreste was old news; a washed up has-been joke of a villain with no leg to stand on, no opportunity to tell a side the whole of France had no interest in hearing, still to enraged with the damage he’d done to even consider it. If anything it was becoming more and more clear that they would not do so until he was long gone, so he couldn’t glean the satisfaction from it.

Despite all that, Marinette’s skin was constantly prickling like she knew something dangerous was just around the corner, and until she could quell the unsettling feeling living in her flesh, she knew it wasn’t in her best interest or in Chat’s for them to finally reveal to one another who they were.

To be robbed of this opportunity after all this time was a huge disappointment; there was no denying that, but as the Guardian of the Miraculouses, Marinette knew there were going to be sacrifices she was going to have to make for her team. This just wasn’t one she had the time to fully prepare for.

“Where’d you go?” Chat sounds bemused.

“Pardon?” Marinette shakes her head, looking gently over at the black clad superhero lounging on her couch.

“You were talking about your day and you just drifted off and got this far away look in your eye. Is everything alright with you?” Chat asks her.

“Yes, and no. It’s been a long day.” She sighs.

“I can go if you’d like.” Chat says quickly, making to stand.

“No!” She protests quickly, “I was actually really looking forward to seeing you tonight.”

She admits the last part a bit quietly, looking down at her feet as she speaks, not catching the flush of pleasure that steals across Chat’s face, or the tenderness in his eyes as he gazes at her when she confesses to him.

“I’m really glad to hear that. I enjoy your company.” He tells her just as softly.

Why is it that honest declarations have to be made in such dulcet tones? It’s as if people want to openly admit what it is they’re thinking what it is they’re feeling, but not too loud on the off chance that if the feelings aren’t returned at least there’s the hope it went unheard.

Marinette’s chest is aching and when she sits down on the couch beside Chat, she unconsciously leans into him, her eyes slipping closed in contentment at the closeness of a partner she’d missed so dearly it had been like a constant stomach ache.

“I enjoy your company too.” She tells him. “Things make a little more sense now that you’re back.”

“Hey, I didn’t go anywhere, Princess.” Chats voice thrums in his chest as she leans her head against it and he winds a gentle arm across her back, “I’ve been right here.”

🐞

The muddy banks of the channel a young woman had been wading across were bitingly cold, they soothed the burns on her legs and arms as she pushed herself deeper, teeth chattering so hard they’d cut a line through her bottom lip, blood stains dotting her chin and throat from the abuse of her mouth.

The Grimoire was clutched tightly in one hand, she kept wiping rain and blood out of her eyes with each step forward she took, a gnarled staff clenched tightly in her fist, adorned with the crest found on the Miracle Box she’d seen in the pages of the book she held now waterlogged and peeling in her hand. The staff was supposed to work like a beacon, hone in on the pulse of energy the Miraculous jewels gave off, and here she was, up to her waist in filthy water after a harrowing escape in the middle of the night, nearly being caught by Adrien when she’d broken into his father’s old office in the first place, having to escape out of a window in a graceless, undignified manner, hoping the closer she got to the heart of the city the sooner she’d find what she was looking for.

Her escape plan had a few flaws, sure. But it’d all began when she’d first spotted the staff locked away in the antechamber used for morning mass at the facility, she knew her immediate course of action was to get out with herself and said staff as intact as possible.

She threw a furious look to her burned legs, barely visible underneath the murky water and the pale light of the moon. The staff was the only thing aiding her in standing upright at this point, her entire body was hot and cold, clammy all over while she’d paused every few yards to expel the very little sustenance she had remaining in her stomach.

She pushed herself up onto the shore to collapse and take a breath, letting the cold night air soothe the sting in her limbs, valiantly trying not to gag at the sight of her raw flesh, reddened and crusty in places, oozing like it wasn’t healing quite right. She clenched her fist tighter around the staff in her right hand, her head pushing back into the sand, gazing blankly up at the full moon above her, glowing with a halo around it, strong cool and sure, like it was mocking her.

She closed her eyes, the weight of them holding themselves down firmly urging her to take the time to sleep. She had to push on, and she knew it. But for now she was as comfortable as she could get, for now she wanted to be still. She had time, everyone thought she was dead, and she needed it to stay that way for as long as she possibly could in order to effectively exact her revenge.

They said karma was a bitch, but karma had never met the likes of Lila Rossi.

🐞

The atelier was thrumming with energy when Marinette set foot inside the next morning.

Honey was stood in the midst of assistants and hapless looking interns running about with files and folios, juggling half made handbags and lugging in bolts of fabric, each of them exuding an air of manic desperation, one timid girl coming forward through the throng to hold out an enormous to go cup of steaming coffee to the tall imposing woman in the middle of the tornado.

“You’re late.” Honey says by way of greeting.

She’s dressed as impeccably as usual, towering in enormous spiked heels as she sips her coffee without so much as acknowledging the intern by her elbow other than to tell the poor girl that she’s dismissed.

Marinette’s eyebrow raises, she knows full well she arrived exactly at seven just like Adrien asked her to, but got a little lost on her way through the building. It’s no excuse Honey would be interested in hearing, and she’s only late by three minutes, but she apologies regardless albeit a little tersely, changing the subject as quick as she can to inquire where Honey would like her to set up.

She’s immediately lead up an imposing flight of stairs to the left of the atelier to where a large glass office is sitting waiting for her, overlooking the work floor.

“As head designer, this will be your main work area, all the interns are at your disposal until we can find a suitable personal assistant for you.” Honey explains, eyes never leaving her tablet as she types away on it at breakneck speed, “you can conduct a few job interviews after Fashion Week, typically that isn’t how we do things and you would have an assistant of your own already, but we’re a little too swamped at the moment to make any exceptions for you.”

“I understand.” Marinette responds, “thank you.”

Honey looks up briefly at Marinette, clearly startled by the benign attitude she exudes.

“Your class schedule has been forwarded to Mr. Agreste, and your first assignments have an extended deadline so you can meet the criteria without trouble and still get your work done here.”

She holds a thick folio out to Marinette, “these are the original designs our former team was working on, it’s more or less a guideline for you to know what to avoid. We’re trying to distance ourselves as far from Gabriel’s influence as possible, and obviously that’s where you come in.”

Marinette opens the folio, pursing her lips at the flashy sketches of dresses and ensembles glaring back at her in bold gauzy hues and cuts she wouldn’t dream of imitating.

“I don’t think I’ll be in any danger of creating anything that comes remotely close to these.” Marinette tells Honey confidently.

“Glad to hear it, I’ll let you work in peace.”

She holds out a second new tablet to Marinette, “all your work contacts are programmed into this, if you need anything don’t hesitate to ping an intern or email me directly if you absolutely have to. We try not to bother Mr. Agreste unless it’s absolutely earth shattering, so be mindful not to waste his time. He’s taking a very big chance on you, after all.”

Honey turns on her heel, pause and looks over her shoulder, “I’d order a coffee if I were you and keep them coming. You’re going to be here a while.”

Marinette takes the advice, pulling up a tall rolling stool in front of a large adjustable white standing desk, tilted back for her to spread her sketch pads, pens and tablet across.

The table has a built in cup holder that the skittish intern by the name of Violet never leaves empty at Marinette’s polite request.

Fully aware other big names in fashion this season have been producing a lot of works inspired by the Miraculous Team, Marinette is striving to avoid that; not fully comfortable with the idea of paying tribute to that secret side of her life anyways.

She’s been bombarded all morning with messages of encouragement from her family and friends, (Chloé even going as far as to insist that Marinette name a collection after her) but her nerves aren’t quelled in the slightest as she buries herself in her work, not bothering to stray her focus until she’s quite literally drooping in exhaustion, and by the time she looks at her watch she’s astonished to discover she’d been holed away in her new office for at least ten hours attempting to churn out some fresher designs, to bring an entirely new line to life.

There’s a soft knock in the doorway, she lifts her head wearily to see Adrien leaning in the door frame with a small smile on his lips, tie askew like he’d been tugging on it and two paper cups in his hands.

“Thought you might need something to fortify yourself with.” He shakes a cup at her with a sly grin and Marinette eyes her own trembling fingers, hesitating.

“I’ve had so much caffeine today I think my heart is going to explode.” She tells him.

“Well then it’s a good thing this isn’t coffee.” Adrien laughs, and Marinette accepts the cup with what she now realizes is a splash of whiskey in it, taking a small sip and relishing the burn it sends down her throat.

He’s right, it’s a hell of a lot more fortifying than the coffee she’s been drinking all day, and she takes another bigger sip out of nerves when he slides around the standing desk to take a look at the sketches she’d been pouring her heart into all day long.

“Marinette, these are incredible,” Adrien sounds delighted, fingertips skimming over the edge of her sketchpad, focusing intently on the image of a floaty sheath dress she’d been working on shortly before he came in, “absolutely incredible.”

He looks up at her, eyes glowing and she’s warm all over from the praise and the caffeine intake and the whiskey, a content giggle bubbling at the back of her throat.

“I’m so glad you like them.”

She breathes out a sigh of relief fidgeting with the charcoal pencil balancing precariously at the edge of the desk, fingers twitching after it when it spun out of her grasp and clattered to the floor. She scrambled underneath the desk in an undignified kind of way after the writing utensil in question, hand stilling when a much larger, more comforting one closed in overtop of her own.

“I love them.”

Adrien’s eyes meet her own in the tight confines of the space under the standing desk, sparkling bright and encouraging. He’s got a look in his eye the Marinette is starting to notice he reserves for her only. One that shows how genuinely he is feeling and as much as it warms her to know he feels comfortable enough with her to be this open, she’s itching to know why he keeps himself closed off from nearly everyone else.

Gaze roving over the softened features on Adrien’s usually tight, drawn face Marinette can’t help but find herself unconsciously leaning in, cheeks on fire when she’d realized she was so close to him she could see her reflection in his glasses. Abashed, she jerked her head back so quickly it felt like it split it two as it made contact with the underside of the desk the pair had still been resting under.

“Are you okay?!”

Adrien reaches for her, eyes troubled but Marinette waves him away, snatching the pencil off the floor and staggering back to her feet, touching the sore spot on her head gingerly.

“I’m fine, just misjudged the room I had under there.”

She laughs it off, eyes watering in pain. She flops back on the rolling stool, sliding away from the desk at the motion and awkwardly drags herself back to it by her feet, Adrien laughing at her a little as he stands and pats off nonexistent floor grime from the knees of his well tailored trousers.

“Well I didn’t mean to interrupt your process but it’s pretty late and despite what Honey might try to tell you, you’re allowed to take breaks, you know.” Adrien picks up his cup from the desk, taking a deeper pull from it, fingers now dancing over the page of a slim cigarette cut pantsuit in gold silk Marinette’s only half finished sketching. “Chloé would love this.” He says with a small smile.

“How much do you think she’d flip out if I named it after her?” Marinette asks idly, surprised when she sees a glow of something like pride in Adrien’s gaze as her tired eyes meet his.

“She would absolutely love you for it.” He laughs, shaking his head, “but it’s a brilliant idea. Different names for different suit styles.” He taps a finger on his chin, “its worth playing around with at least.”

Marinette nods, eyes drooping sleepily, “I like that idea.” She murmurs, “I’ll work with it.”

The whiskey she’d partaken in had quelled the after affects of too much caffeine considerably but now the pendulum had swung too far in the other direction and she was feeling woefully exhausted. Adrien clearly notices, because he gently takes her by the elbow and tugs her to her feet, helping her gather up her work and materials.

“You need to go home and get some sleep Marinette or you’re going to be no use to Honey tomorrow and I won’t hear the end of it. I’m not working you to death on your first week with me.” His tone is playful, but forceful and Marinette knows better than to argue, too worn out to do so anyways. She just nods and gathers her purse, slipping her cropped blazer over her sweater dress, rising off her stool and reaches over to flick the overhead lamp clamped to the desk off at the same time as Adrien, his hand encasing her own for the second time.

She laughs shyly, pulling her hand away and Adrien blushes furiously, shutting the lamp off, ushering Marinette out of her new office.

“Would you like a lift home?” He offers gently as they make their way out of the office and down the stairs to the deserted atelier, moonbeams pouring in from the high windows, slitting the room into patches of light and dark, the atmosphere eerie and still, after being so bright and full of manic energy only several hours before.

Her place is fairly close by and she feels like a walk may wake her up some, so she politely declines, bidding Adrien a good night, cinching her jacket tightly around herself, opening her umbrella and stepping out into the light mist casting a hazy distortion around the streetlights lining the cobblestoned sidewalks. Adrien seems reluctant to let her go off on her own so late in the evening, but Marinette is adamant she’s fine, and he watches her go, slumped against the side of his car, hands jammed into the pockets of his soft leather jacket.

He waits until she’s faded from view before he sends the car home without him.

“Let me guess,” Plagg sighs, drifting out of his usual place in Adrien’s breast pocket, “you want to escort her home?”

“It’s dark out and she was visibly exhausted.” Adrien points out, “I’d feel better if I knew she got home safely.”

Plagg rolls his eyes but says nothing, Adrien transforming quickly and propelling himself into the air via his baton, easily catching up to Marinette in mere seconds despite the considerable head start she’d had on him.

She starts, then sighs and closes her umbrella in resignation when he snags her around the waist and leaps with her from from rooftop to rooftop, feet light as air. Marinette winds her arms around his neck, clinging a little tighter when he starts showing off with his bigger leaps, relaxing once they’ve landing surefooted on the terrace of her apartment, mindful of the damned skylight this time.

“That wasn’t necessary, I wasn’t that far from home.” She sounds petulant and a little embarrassed and Chat can’t help but grin.

“It’s late Princess, and I don’t know if you noticed or not but this weather is just horrible. I spotted you while I was out on patrol and had to do the gentlemanly thing and escort you home in one piece.” He says to her gently, helping right her to her feet.

She detangles her arms from around his neck and shoulders, and Chat immediately misses the feeling of her arms.

“Thank you.” Marinette murmurs quietly. Chat takes her hand in his, kissing the top of it and winking at her.

“For you? Anytime.” He purrs.

She cups his cheek like he’d done to her the night previous, smiles almost sadly, throwing the latch open on her skylight and easing herself down the step ladder that Chat had obviously missed when he fell in the first time.

She lets out a startled yelp just as Chat is about to turn and leave.

He flies down the ladder after her, heart in his throat with concern and freezes on the bottom rung, gripping her arm tightly at the sight of her apartment. Like his father’s former office had been discovered the night previous the room is in pieces; overturned with a multitude of broken pictures and belongings scattered across the hardwood floors. Her more expensive electronics such as her tv and computer are untouched however, clearly whomever had been in her apartment had no intentions of making off with those, and Chat wondered what it could have possibly been that the intruder had been looking for instead.

“Stay behind me.”

Chat growls in Marinette’s ear, stalking forwards, and tugging her close to him, with his baton out in his other hand. They move across the flat as a unit, Marinette’s eyes hardening in fury as each room of hers they pick their way through shows the excess carnage and pilfering of her belongings. It’s deliberate and cruel, from the broken dishes to the hand sewn dresses of hers shredded beyond any state of repair.

“So your theory about Lila...” Marinette starts, her voice surprisingly steady, “I’m beginning to wonder if you’re on to something here.”

“There’s no proof it’s her, unfortunately.” Chat sighs, “but who else would do something like this? And what were they looking for?”

“I don’t know, but I hope they never found it.” Marinette says, picking up the remnants of a beautiful midnight blue jumper tattered and frayed, and then casting it aside with a weary sigh. It’s clear her place is empty, and when she sees an old hatbox lying on its side out from underneath her bed she pales.

“It’s clear no one is here Chat so if you don’t mind I’d like to go to bed and worry about tidying up in the morning. I’m too exhausted to do anything else right now.” Marinette all but begins to push Chat towards the door.

“I don’t feel comfortable leaving you here alone with your place trashed like this,” Chat says gently, “why don’t I stay for tonight? I can be out in the living room and you can call for me if you need me.” He plants his feet and looks the slightly panicked young woman square in the eye. “I’d feel a lot better if I stayed.”

Marinette sighs and nods, “I need to get changed. Do you mind?”

She gestures to the door she’d all but succeed in shoving him out of and he nods, gesturing to the living room and kitchen behind him.

“I’m going to start tidying this all up.” He says softly.

“You don’t have to do that.” Marinette says, slowly beginning to shut the door behind him.

“I want to.” Chat insists.

Marinette flashes him a soft smile and then clicks her bedroom door shut. The second the door is closed, Tikki zooms out of Marinette’s purse, eyes wide in fright. They both turn to the old hatbox, and exchange a worried glance with one another, both too terrified and worked up to utter a single word. Crossing the room with legs as heavy as lead, Marinette crouches down, pulling the box towards herself, lifting the dented lid, her breath whooshing out of her lungs in relief when she sees the Miracle Box hidden inside is still there, still in one piece.

“If someone was after these, why didn’t they take the whole box with them?”

Tikki wonders aloud as Marinette gently lifts it from its hiding place and begins to open it on her bed. They both stare into the opened compartments, a shared expression of shock and resignation on their faces at the sight that awaited them. Marinette sighs, touching the place where the Butterfly Miraculous once sat.

“Because they were only after one.”

She leans against her headboard, eyes welling with frustrated tears. The top compartments were empty, the Peacock Miraculous was still MIA, and her core group still held on to their own, but for the last ten months she’d been comforted by the knowledge the Butterfly Miraculous was finally safe and secure. She had failed as a Guardian, she had failed her own legacy, and she gripped at fistfuls of her hair, too wound up by her shortcomings to relish the fact the thief had left behind all the others for some unexplainable reason.

“Marinette.” Tikki’s voice is trembly.

The woeful girl lifts her head wearily, her eyes blotchy and tired, widening when she sees a note clenched in her kwami’s grip. The red bug like being flies to her side and holds it out to her, her bright eyes welling with tears to match Marinette’s own. The handwriting is shaky, hardly legible at all but when she reads it over, the six letter sentence is still chilling enough to make her drop the piece of paper to the floor, hands shaking like she’d been plunged into tub of ice.

‘_Now I know who you are_.’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know this chapter is significantly shorter than the first one, but I had no intentions of making my first chapter so wordy in the first place!
> 
> Got distracted by Harry on SNL and then the Chat Blanc ep and got sucked into a whole other oneshot that I may post later if I feel like it.
> 
> Happy reading!
> 
> -Marichaten🖤

**Author's Note:**

> I’m always a fan of feedback and commentary, but as my schedule is as booked up as canon Adrien Agreste’s, I will try to update as much as I can!


End file.
